


Renegades

by rexisnotyourwriter



Category: Alias (Comics), Broadchurch, Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Detective Noir, Gen, Missing Persons, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica Jones enlists the help of the familiar-looking Detective Alec Hardy in a case that takes a dark turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Issue I: Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Strong language and adult themes. Mentions of Kilgrave and Jessica's history with him. Based mostly off of the Netflix series.

The street had been silent since 10:45pm.  No people or cars had stirred.  It was a school night after all, and she was in suburbia.  Not her usual terrain.  The last bedroom light on the second floor of the house across the street didn’t go off until almost midnight though.  Its occupant had insomnia; he took at least two sleeping pills before getting into bed.  She’d give it another half hour, just to be safe.  

She stood up carefully on the branch she was perched on and made sure the second-hand camcorder was securely strapped to her hand.  In one swift move, she jumped down to the sidewalk.  The toe of her boot extinguished the cigarette butt that fell on top of a pile of others that had accumulated below her.  She scanned the street once more.  Still empty.  A shadow bolted under a streetlight.  She turned on her heels.  An orange cat was walking towards her, slower once it noticed her presence.  

“You little shit,” she said as she knelt down to scratch its head.  “I was about to dropkick you.”

She could feel the vibrations of its purring as her hand moved under its collarless chin.  Sometimes she thought about getting a pet, but hell, she couldn’t even keep plants alive, even the so called “unkillable” ones.  

“Ow!”

She pulled her hand away.  The fucker bit her.  

She stood up and stared down at the cat as it weaved its way through her legs, rubbing hair off on her boots.  

_Cats are weird._

It followed her halfway to the house before giving up hope for more attention and continuing down the dark street.

She felt like a teenager again, sneaking around in the dead of night after spending the past three hours in the park smoking and drinking Vodka from an empty Starbucks cup.  Only this time she’d spent the past four hours sitting outside, and the house she was at wasn’t hers.  

The rancid smell coming from the garbage bin at the side of the house hit her nose before she even opened the lid.  She wished she had a free hand to plug her nose while she dug out what she came here for, what she had seen the man dispose of hours earlier.  Thankfully most of the shredded bits of paper were on top.  Some had slipped down the sides.  She got some close shots of the contents of the bin before turning the camera off and putting it in her bag.

“Good enough.”

She took a deep breath through her mouth before shoving her arm down the side of the bin, stuffing the pieces she grabbed in her bag with the rest of them.  

A light shone on her.  

“Hey!” a voice called.

_Shit._

She spun around, keeping the bag behind her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

_Fuck._

It was times like these she wished she had backup.

The light lowered, and once her eyes adjusted she could see it was the owner standing in front of her in a silk robe overtop of his pyjamas.  His eyes scanned her slowly from top to bottom and back up.

“Uhhh,” she slurred.  “Got any cans?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Get out of here before I call the cops.”

She lowered her head and walked down the street, away from the house and her car, being careful he wouldn’t see her slip the bag inside her jacket.  

_That was close._

There may have been a few bits of paper she missed, but hopefully what she had would be enough for her client.  

 

The future ex-Mrs. Wayne Sanderson inspected the taped together pages that Jessica had recovered.  She looked how Jessica imagined herself if she had a six figure salary instead of an alcohol problem, among others.  The cut of her black form fitting dress was so sharp it could slit a man’s throat as the heel of her stiletto stabbed his heart, all while he smiled at the sight of her caramel coloured eyes.  Her long mahogany hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail like the last time they’d met.

The corner of her crimson lips curled up into an amused, bitter smile.  She had got what she wanted, what she had suspected.  What she hadn’t expected was for it to sting as much as it did.  

Jessica knew that smile well.  It was almost standard for wives who finally held the evidence of their soon-to-be ex-husband’s infidelity.  For women who had already started or intended to start divorce proceedings, of course.  The blindsided women usually just cried and spewed half-hearted statements of denial as their tears fell on a photo of their high school sweetheart taking a hooker from behind in an alley.  

Veronica Sanderson was not a crier.  There was no way in hell she would waste what few tears were inside of her on this bastard and ruin her perfect winged liner in the process.  The part that hurt was that she had been stupid enough to not suspect anything for at least four months judging by the dates in his ledger.  

Jessica sat behind her desk, her folded forearms resting on top.

“I didn’t get all the pieces, but there is enough there to prove multiple rendezvous.”

“So I see.”

“The tape is in there too.  It’s on nightvision, but you can see him dumping the shreds.  You probably won’t need it though if they can get a handwriting analysis match.”

Veronica slid the pages back inside the envelope.

“You’d think he would be smarter than to keep a diary,” she added.

Veronica scoffed out a laugh.  

“His narcissism outweighs any intelligence he might have.  Trust me.”

She pulled a smaller envelope out of her handbag.  Jessica watched as her purple painted nails slid it across the table.    

“Thank you, Miss Jones,” she said, but the voice wasn’t hers.  It was _his_.

“What?”

She looked back up at Veronica.  It was indeed Veronica, and not…

“I said thank you, Miss Jones.”

“Right, sorry.”

She pried her fingernails from top of her desk where they’d dug in; Veronica pretended not to notice.

Jessica smiled politely and took the envelope.  

“Thanks.”

Veronica turned on her heels with precision and walked out the door of Alias Investigations.  

She counted the money inside the envelope and smiled.

_Another day, another dollar.  Or, you know, another thousand._

This P.I. thing wasn’t such a bad idea afterall.

She smiled to herself.  

_I think this calls for a celebration._

 

She went to a different bar than last time.  She’d gotten kicked out of and banned from her previous favorite watering hole for dislocating some guy’s shoulder, a few broken bones, and a couple hundred dollars in property damage - or something like that.  Her memory was a bit fuzzy.  They probably had it coming.  

The bar she wound up in was dimly lit and nearly empty, just the way she liked it.  The first double she ordered was gone in seconds; she ordered another.  

“You sure can pound them back, hun,” the bartender laughed.  

He was bald with a greying handlebar moustache that reminded Jessica of the whiskers on a subway rat.  She slowly raised her eyes to glare at him.  A warning.  

He gave her a wide partially-toothless grin.

“Come on, give us a smile.”

His hand reached out to caress the side of her face, but it only felt her skin for half a second before it was slammed on the counter, fingers bent backwards.  

He let out an anguished scream.  Her gaze was steady on him.  When his eyes finally met hers, they were watering from the pain.

“Please,” he begged.

He tried to squirm under her grasp.  It was useless.  

Jessica remained still.

“Come on,” she whispered.  “Give us a smile.”

The corners of his mouth turned up into a pain-ridden smile.

She released his hand, and he let out a gasp of relief.

“Touch me again and your fingers will be so far up your ass they’ll gag you.”

He nodded.

“And don’t call me hun,” she added.

He nodded again.  She downed the rest of her drink.

“I’m trying to celebrate here.”

He immediately poured her another.

 

The next morning was a rude awakening.  Technically it wasn’t the morning anymore, but Jessica had been passed out since she got home last night, she assumed.  She didn’t remember how the hell she got from the bar to her bed.  Come to think of it, she didn’t remember much from the night before.  Her knuckles weren’t swollen though, so at least she didn’t beat the shit out of anyone.  Miraculously.  

The ringing of her phone jolted her awake.  She squinted in the harsh light streaming through her blinds to read the call display.  It was Veronica Sanderson.

_I should probably answer this._

“Aliasinvestigations,” she mumbled.

Real professional.

“Jessica.  It’s Veronica.”

“Hi.  What’s up?”

She sat up in her bed and brushed the hair from her face.

“I just have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“What kind of imbecile are you?” she asked coolly.  

Jessica froze.

“Excuse me?”

“Wayne saw you going through the trash, a fact you failed to mention yesterday, and decided to do a little research of his own and found out who you were.  Naturally him and his lawyers put two and two together, and now the evidence I hired you to get is completely worthless.”

_What the fuck._

“What?  It’s not illegal to hire a private investigator, or to go through someone’s garbage for that matter.  I checked.”

She was fairly new to this whole thing, but she damn well knew what she could and could not do.

Veronica laughed that same bitter laugh she did before.  Maybe it was the only way she knew how.  

“Yes, but you trespassed on his property to get it, and you got caught.  The documents are dismissed as evidence and the video isn’t worth shit now.”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

“I’m sorry, I-”

“For fuck’s sake, you even got it all on tape.  I guess intelligence isn’t one of your so-called superpowers.”

“I’m s-”

Dial tone.  

Jessica squeezed her phone tighter and tighter into a fist until she felt it crunch under her fingers.  She released her grasp and stared at the bloody shards in her hand.

_Well, shit._

* * *

He rarely flew.  The past eight hours in the air reminded him why: the recycled air, the close quarters and lack of privacy, the stale smell of plastic and body odor.  It was like an airborne hospital with turbulence.  At least there weren’t any screaming children onboard.  

The luggage carousel rotated around and around, but there was no sign of his bag.  He checked to make sure he was at the right one; he was.  

_Great._

Ten minutes later he gave up and went to the baggage claim office.  The woman barely looked at him as he explained his situation.

“Fill out this form,” she said, sliding him a pen and sheet of paper without her eyes leaving her monitor.  

Even when he wasn’t working or getting divorced his life was full of paperwork.  He slid it back to her in the same manner when he was finished and mumbled a sarcastic thanks.  At least he had his wallet with him, unless of course he got mugged on the way to his hotel.  This was New York, after all.  

Within seconds of exiting the airport his hair was completely soaked.  He popped the collar of his jacket up so it at least would help prevent the drops from trickling down the back of his neck.  By the time he found a free taxi, his coat and shoes were drenched.

The first thing he did when he got to his hotel room was hang up his wet clothes and shoes next to the heater.  His trousers and shirt were still dry, thankfully.  He didn’t have any other clothes, and bloody hell could he use a drink.  

A bar in New York was the last place he ever thought he’d be, at any stage in his life, but here he was - inhaling stale smoke and sipping on the first Scotch he’d had in years.  It was only a couple blocks from his hotel, and there was an umbrella in the room.  When he got outside, he found that the rain had stopped and the sun had begun to peek through the grey clouds.  The streets were beginning to flood with people for the lunch rush.

He sat hunched over at the edge of the bar in the seat closest to the door, swirling the ice in his glass.  It was too early for it to be socially acceptable to drink, but he was still on Dorset time.  The bar was busier than he thought it would be.  He wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a concern.  He decided he didn’t care.  

The door opened behind him and briefly flooded the bar with light.  His pathetic looking shadow was cast in front of him - an indistinguishable mass of blackness.  

He downed the rest of his drink.  The newcomer brushed past him on their way, _her_ way, to the opposite end of the bar.  Apparently he was a plague here too.  Lovely.  

He grabbed his coat and headed to the door without bothering to put it on.  The daylight glared in his eyes as he squinted, trying to adjust.  

“Hey!”

A voice called from behind him.  He was sure he paid; he couldn’t be that jetlagged.  

He turned around.  The last thing he saw before he hit the ground was a fist in his face.

 

The first thing he heard was a steady beeping.  The familiar smell of disinfectant came next.

_Bloody hell, not again._

The lights in the room were dimmed, thankfully.  His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like metal and scotch.  He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?  

His eyes adjusted to the room; he wasn’t alone.  

He didn’t recognize the woman sitting in the chair next to his bed, and judging by her ripped jeans and leather jacket, she wasn’t a nurse.  

“Who are you,” he slurred.

He tried to sit up.

“Hey,” she said, gently pressing him back against the bed.  “Take it easy.”

The room began to spin.  He closed his eyes.  

He remembered he was in New York; her voice had reminded him of that.  Her voice…

He opened his eyes and glared at her.

“You-”

“Well, at least your memory is intact,” she said casually with a smile.

He wasn’t laughing.  

Her eyes turned down to stare at her shoes.

“Ok, that was in poor taste.  Sorry.  For that and for, well, that,” she said, pointing to his face.  

He didn’t even want to know how he looked right now.  The numbness around his nose radiated across his cheeks.

“I just-” she started.

She looked back up at him.  It was so bizarre.  It was _him_ , but at the same time it wasn’t.  There was a part of her brain that was twitching.  

_What if it is.  What if he’s fucking with you._

If he was, it was pretty elaborate.  She did her research on him, Alec Hardy, while he was unconscious; it all checked out.  She wouldn’t put it past Kilgrave though; he certainly had the ability and resources.  But it wasn’t his style.  

She shook her head.

“I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone who deserved a good right hook, I take it.”

“And then some,” she muttered.

Hardy tried to sit up again, slower this time.  

“Hey, what did I say?”

His eyes told her not to touch him.  She obeyed.

“You’ve done your damage and said you’re sorry.  You can go,” he said nodding towards the door.

She didn’t move.

“Why are you in a rush?  You’ve got travel insurance, so you’re covered.  You should rest.”

“I don’t like hospitals,” he growled as he finally reached a sitting position.  “How’d you know I have travel insurance?”

“I know a lot of things about you, Detective Hardy.”

He stared her down.  She wasn’t easy to read, this one.  

“What do you want?”

“Calm down, Liam Neeson.  I didn’t kidnap your daughter, and I’m not trying to blackmail you.  I’m a Private Investigator.”

His face softened ever so slightly.

“You just got here, yeah?”

He nodded.  He wasn’t sure if it was more painful to move his head or to speak.

“Do you have any work lined up?”

“I’m on vacation.”

Nodding was definitely worse.  His head was still throbbing.  

She raised an eyebrow at him.  

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was the closest thing to it.

“But you have money, right?  Enough to last for your no-return-ticket vacation?”

She certainly was thorough in her research.  

“Not that much, no.  But I gather you already knew that.”

She gave him half a smile, trying not to look too smug.  

“How would you feel about working with me?”


	2. Issue II: Once

Between his rocky arrival in New York and waking up in the hospital to his attacker offering him a job, Hardy didn’t even know where to begin processing it all.  He sat silently for a good five minutes.  Jessica picked at the frayed bits on her jeans.

“Why?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

She looked up at him.  It wasn’t an exclamation; he was asking seriously. 

Jessica took a deep breath and looked around the room; she felt like a black smudge in the middle of the spotless white and mint decor.  

_Because I need help._

“I have a case that’s a two-man job.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.  She did have a potential case - a voicemail she received while he was unconscious about following around a woman’s son, see what he’s up to.  Of course she could do it on her own, but after her most recent fuck up…

“I don’t even know who you are.  You seem to know a lot about me, the least you can do is tell me your name.”

“Jessica Jones.”

She hoped it didn’t ring any bells.  

“Is this usually how you offer people jobs?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, so I should feel honored then, eh?” he said through gritted teeth.

He was still upset.  Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.  

They sighed in unison.  Their eyes met.  This time she could see his reservations, his weariness.  He caught a glimmer of fear in hers before she turned away.

Jessica stood up.

“I’m sorry.  Just - just forget it.”

She turned to leave.

_God, I’m such an idiot._

“Wait,” Hardy said.

She stopped and faced him.

“What’s the case?”

He hoped he wouldn’t regret asking.  

“Woman thinks her son has been sneaking around and wants to get to the bottom of it.”

Hardy let out a small sigh of relief.  It wasn’t murder and no one was missing.  He could handle that.  

“Okay,” he said.  

She stared at him for a moment.  He raised an eyebrow.

“Like, okay as in okay you’ll do it?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled slightly.

“On one condition,” he added.  “Get me the bloody hell out of here.”

 

His head was still throbbing when they left the hospital.  The hallway to the elevator spun as he tried to walk; he had to lean against the wall for support.  

She must’ve punched him more times than he remembered.  He’d been hit before, but never beaten quite like this.  She certainly was stronger than she looked.  

Jessica reached out a hand to help him but only received a quick glare.  She understood.  She wouldn’t want help either if she were him, but she could take a hit better than most.

Once they got into the elevator, Hardy finally caught a glimpse of himself.  Bluish purple splotches spread out under both his eyes, and his nose was a red swollen mess between them.  

He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” Jessica said.  

She sounded sincere.  

Hardy mumbled something incomprehensible.  She tried not to let him see her smirk.  

When they walked outside, it was getting dark.  The clouds had cleared completely, and the sun had begun to set.  Hardy’s sense of time was completely thrown off.  

He stood outside the hospital doors while Jessica kept walking towards a free cab.  She gave him the address to Hardy’s hotel.  When she turned to Hardy, he was still standing outside the front doors, staring at his phone.

“Are you getting in or not?” the cabbie barked.

“Yeah, just hang on a sec.”

“Time is money, lady.”

“Calm your tits,” she said, throwing a couple crumpled bills from her pocket at him.

Hardy looked up before Jessica reached him.

“Come on.  Cab’s waiting.”

He nodded apologetically and followed her to the car.

“Everything okay?” she asked as they pulled out of the hospital.

“I suppose you already told him where to go.”

“Someone had to.”

He let out a small sigh.

“How much do you know about me exactly?” 

“More than enough.”

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“You’re not really one for answers yourself, are you?”

He raised his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes.

“Most of your medical and work history, recent travel information of course.”

He turned away from her to look out the window.

“I know you’re a good detective,” she said.  

He scoffed lightly.  

It wasn’t long until they drove past the bar from earlier that day.  Moments later they had pulled up in front of his hotel.  

She handed him her card.  

“The client is going to come by my office tomorrow at 10, but come a bit before then.”

He took the card and nodded.

“And hey,” she said as he was about to leave.  “Ice your face tonight.  It’ll help with the swelling.  Then a warm compress tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, Dr. Jones,” he muttered before closing the door.  

 

 He took a hot shower almost as soon as he got up to his room to rid himself of the antiseptic hospital smell that clung to his skin.  The text he received earlier kept running through his mind.  He hadn’t replied to it yet.  

His finger tips had completely pruned by the time he shut the water off.  The slightly fogged up mirror showed a kinder reflection than the hospital elevator.  He wasn’t as bruised as he thought, but he was more swollen than he felt. 

The ice machine wasn’t too far down the hall, thankfully.  Somehow he managed to walk there without feeling the need to prop himself against the wall.  When he got back to his room, he wrapped the ice in a towel and pressed it gently to his eyes.  

His stomach grumbled.  He could barely remember the last proper meal he had.  The room service menu had few options that interested him.

 _Fuck it_.  

He opted for the baked macaroni and cheese.  

The homemade ice pack had already numbed the left side of his face so he switched it to the right as he stretched out on the bed.  He contemplated turning on the telly, but the remote was too far out of reach.  Instead he just lay there, staring at the black screen of his phone next to him with his one open eye.  It was too early to reply anyways.  The message was sent while he was unconscious, and by now it was the middle of the night over there.  The justification made him feel better about ignoring it, for the time being at least.  He couldn’t ignore it forever.  

After what felt like an eternity for his stomach, his dinner arrived.  Much to his surprise, it looked and smelled better than he had anticipated.  While he was up, he grabbed the remote before settling back onto the bed.  

Channel after channel, it was nothing but shit.  Hospital dramas, laugh track sitcoms, and reality show after reality show.  He settled on Jeopardy.  At least it was tolerable.  

The rest of his evening was spent in that same position, only moving to change the channel when necessary.  He hid his phone in the side table drawer so it would stop staring at him.  The card Jessica gave him sat on top of the table.  He picked it up and inspected it.

_Alias Investigations._

Interesting name.  He took out his mobile to plug in the address and phone number then returned it to its hiding place in the drawer.

Water from the ice pack trickled down the side of his arm giving him chills and once again wetting his shirt.  He got up and dumped what was left into the sink and inspected his face once more.  The swelling had gone down.  He still looked like a bruised piece of fruit, but at least his nose no longer resembled an overripe tomato.  

When he walked back to the bed the clock alerted him to how late it was.  Surprisingly he didn’t feel tired, considering the day he’d had, but he crawled into bed anyways after setting his alarm.  He didn’t want to be late for his first day on the new job.  

 

It took Jessica less than five minutes to find all the empties in her apartment and move them to the kitchen.  A new record.  One of the things she didn’t know about Hardy was how punctual he was, but she figured she had time to run down the street to the bakery.  She only had the crusts of a loaf of bread in her cupboard, and it had gone mouldy.  

She scanned the display case.  It all looked good - well except for the weird fruit things.  The prices were less than desirable.  “Give me the cheapest you have” didn’t seem as appropriate when referring to pastries as it did with whiskey.  An assorted box of day olds caught her eye.

_Bingo._

A cab pulled up just as she was reaching her building.  She paused to see if it would be Hardy or her client, or neither.  Sure enough, a slightly confused looking Hardy stepped out of the cab.  He didn’t look as bad as the day before, but he was still visibly beaten up.  

“Hey,” she said.

He turned to her and nodded a hello.  

“Good timing,” she said, unlocking the front door.  

He held it open as she walked inside.  

“So, this is where your office is?”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t look like an office building.  The shady character who brushed past them on their way out of the elevator certainly suggested otherwise.  

They went up a few floors, and when they got off she led him down to an unmarked door at the end of the hall.  

He was glad he caught her outside.  He wasn’t sure he’d have found his way.

Her office didn’t smell much different than the bar they were in the day before.  There was a proper desk and chairs straight ahead, but as he looked around he noticed it wasn’t just an office.  She seemed to live here as well.  

Jessica dropped the pink pastry box onto her desk and sat behind it.  

“I got snacks,” she said.  “Or breakfast, or whatever you want to call it.  Help yourself.”

She opened the box.  The frosted ones had the icing almost completely transferred to the side of the box or the other pastries.  The croissant looked a bit crusty.  So did the danish, but not as bad.  She ran her finger along the inside to scoop up the discarded icing.  

Hardy casually wandered the space, scoping it out as discreetly as he could.  The kitchen counter was covered in empty liquor bottles.  

_That explains the smell._

He peered into the mug on the edge of her desk as she sucked the icing off her finger.

_Ugh.  Lemon._

“That doesn’t look like coffee,” he noted.

Jessica looked up at him, caught in the act of icing licking and day drinking.  She wasn’t sure if the look he gave her was concern or judgement.  Probably both.

“Congratulations.  Ten detective points for you.”

Regret was seeping in, on both their parts. 

“Just pick one,” she added, shoving the box of pastries towards him.  

He looked inside and scrunched his nose slightly.  

“Or don’t, I don’t care.  This is only happening once, so...”

Hardy picked up the danish and took a bite.  She went in for the chocolate donut.  

She looked up at him with mild amusement as he stood there eating, crumb after crumb falling on the floor.

“You can sit down.”

He looked at the two chairs opposite her.  He grabbed one, moved it to next to her, and sat down.  

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked.  

She exhaled through her nose and shook her head.

“Nothing.”

The client would be there soon.  Jessica downed the rest of the contents in her mug to wash down the too-big-of-a-bite she took from her donut.  

Hardy shoved the rest of the danish into his mouth just before there was a hesitant knock at the door.  

“Come in,” Jessica called after she swallowed the last of her donut.

A woman entered.  She was petite with mousy brown hair that rested on her shoulders.  Strands of grey stood out when the light hit her.  She was dressed in varying hues of beige from head to toe, except for her handbag which was just a shade darker than her hair.  

“I wasn’t sure this was the right place,” she said. 

The expression on her face as she looked at her surroundings suggested she still wasn’t quite sure it was. 

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

“Start at the beginning, Mrs. Maskini.”

“It’s Miss Maskini now.  But you can just call me Elizabeth,” she smiled.  

Jessica gave her a blank stare.

“Ok, um, well.  My son, Howie, has been acting strange lately, for about two weeks now.  He would lie about going to a friend’s house and how long he would be at work.  He’s a good kid, I know he is.  I just…”

She took a deep, shaky breath.  

“I’m worried he’s trying to find his father.”

“Messy divorce?” Jessica asked.

“Oh no!  Well, I mean my divorce wasn’t exactly the tidiest thing, but I never married his father.  I never even met him actually.  Howie was conceived from a sperm donor.  My ex-wife and I always wanted a child.  Perhaps me more than her.”

“He knew about his...origins?”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Well it’s not that hard to put two and two together.  But yes, we were always honest with him, and he never really seemed to mind.  Then the divorce happened and he...he changed.  He picked up a second job for a while, overworked himself, was rarely home.”

“Okay, so you want us just to follow him around, see what he’s up to?”

“Please.  I need to know that he’s alright.  That it’s nothing serious.  They keep those records tight, but he’s good with computer stuff, you know.  He’d probably have to do something illegal.  And then if he did find him, who knows what this man is like!  We picked him out of a catalogue, for goodness sake.”

She was spiralling into a worried frenzy.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Hardy said calmly.

“Thank you,” she smiled at Hardy.

Jessica pulled some papers out of the top drawer and placed it in front of Elizabeth.

“Standard contract.  I require 50% upfront.”

Once the details were all taken care of, Elizabeth thanked them both once more before leaving.

“You should really get a sign or something,” Hardy said.

“For what?”

“This.  It would look more legitimate than just a desk in your living room.”

“I have business cards.”

He raised his crinkled brow.  She rolled her eyes.  She had a feeling she’d be doing that a lot around him.  

Hardy slouched in his chair and pulled out his phone while Jessica brought her empty whiskey mug to the kitchen.  He opened up the text he’d been avoiding.  It was from Tess.

[Daisy and I will be near Broadchurch on a field trip for school next Tuesday.  Dinner?]

He let out a long, slow breath.  

[Out of town.  Next time.]

He hit send and shoved his phone back into his pocket.  He didn’t hold his breath for a response.  


	3. Issue III: Past

Hardy and Jessica’s first stop was Howie’s current place of work - a home and garden store.  Elizabeth told them that he had said they extended his shift until after closing, but she suspected it was a lie.  

The pair of them looked glaringly out of place in the midst of ornate stone fountains and flashy potted plants, him in his slightly crumpled suit and her in the same jacket and jeans she’d been wearing when they met.  She tucked her sunglasses into the front of her shirt as they stepped up to the customer service counter.  The staff room door was just behind the desk which was currently manned by a red-headed woman with an unnaturally cheerful smile.  Jessica braced herself for the interaction; Hardy stood next to her, but a step behind.

“Hello there!  What can I do for you folks today?” the woman said.  

_Oh, God._

“Hi-” Jessica replied in an uncharacteristically bubbly voice.

She glanced down at the woman’s name tag.

“Sandra.  We have been looking everywhere for a ficus and just can’t seem to find one,” she added with a mock embarrassed laugh.  

“They are just down at the end there and to your left,” Sandra replied, pointing across the large expanse of the store.  

“Would you mind, if it’s not too much trouble, showing it to us?  This place is like a maze.”

Sandra hesitated for a moment.

“Sure, I can do that for you.  Right this way.”

She stepped out from behind the desk and started leading the way.  Hardy followed.  Jessica didn’t.  

“You go ahead, sweetie.  I’m going to check out the succulents.”

Sandra smiled back at Jessica before continuing to make her way to the other side of the store.  

Hardy shot Jessica a “what the fuck glance”.  She gestured to the staff room door with a look.  

Sandra started rambling off facts about the ficus.  The last thing Jessica saw before sneaking into the staff room was Hardy’s exasperated face before he turned to follow Sandra.

The break room was empty, thankfully.  She poked her head around the corner where the lockers were.  The coast was clear.  

There was a schedule posted on a cork board on the wall.  Her finger ran along the names until she crossed Howie with today’s date.  Contrary to what he’d told his mother, his original shift time was crossed out and shortened, not extended.  

Jessica walked down the aisle of lockers until she found the one with his name on it.  She grabbed the lock and tore it off with a sharp tug.  

There wasn’t much inside - pair of socks, bruised apple, squished sandwich wrapped in plastic, fraying phone charger.  She noticed something under the sandwich and picked it up.  It was a small notebook.  

Only the first two pages had writing, a list of addresses with times and dates next to them, most of them at least.  The first page and a half had dates that were each crossed out.  The last few entries were uncrossed, but only one of them had a date.  Today.  She snapped a picture of the pages on her phone and returned the notebook to its place under the sandwich.  

Hardy was still enduring Sandra’s one woman show on the ficus and related plants when Jessica returned to join them.  

“We found the ficus,” he said.

“Oh good!”

Her fake bubbly voice made an encore.  

“Thank you so much, Sandra,” Jessica added.

She smiled and looked like she was about to open her mouth, but Jessica guided her away with a hand on her shoulder as gently as she could.

“Thank you,” she said again, still cheerfully, but with more force.

Sandra gave her a polite smile.

The look of relief on Hardy’s face turned to annoyance as soon as she left.

“A heads up next time would be nice,” he grumbled.

“She’s a customer service rep, not a serial killer.”

“And sweetie?”

She rolled her eyes and started making her way towards the exit, pace quickening.

“Come on.”

He followed in silence until they got outside.

“So-”

“He had a notebook with dates and addresses.  One of them is scheduled for tonight - seven o’clock.”

She pulled the picture she took up on her phone and handed it to him.  He stared at it for a moment, brow furrowed, before handing it back to her.  

Jessica’s shoulder rammed into a man walking towards her.

“Whoa, dude!  Watch where you’re going.”

Their eyes met briefly before he rushed on his way.  She stopped and tried to contain the surprise that was registering on her face.  It was Howie.  He looked a bit older and rougher than the photo Elizabeth had shown them, but there was no doubt about it.  His uniform and name tag confirmed it.

Hardy stopped too.

“Was that-”

Jessica nodded.  

Hardy stuck his hands in his pockets and bit at the inside of his cheek while he tried to size up this kid as he scurried away.  He was out of sorts, there was no doubt about that.  It looked like he hadn’t slept much either, or eaten for that matter; the glimpse he got of his face was pale and gaunt.  

He turned to Jessica.  She was still frozen, staring at the front entrance where Howie had disappeared into.  The look he had given her was hauntingly familiar, eyes full of fear and shame.  She could almost see the cracked soul behind them.  

“Are you alright,” Hardy asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, more defensively than intended.  

She could feel his skeptical gaze on her.  She kept walking, faster and with more purpose.

“Come on,” she called, as if he was the one who had held them up.  

 

When they got back to the office, they looked up the addresses from Howie’s notebook.  Hardy wandered around the room in thought while Jessica sat with her feet up on her desk plugging them into her laptop.  There was no discernible pattern.  The crossed out ones were a mix of stores, restaurants, and a couple from a university.  The one for tonight was residential.  

“Do you have a map of the city?” Hardy asked.

“Yeah, it’s next to the fax machine and the moving picture box.”

He put his hands on his hips.

“That’s what Google is for.”

“I like being able to see it.”

She flipped her screen around to face him.

“Tada!”

“Properly.”

“There’s a Kinkos around here somewhere.  Or you could try one of the half a dozen overpriced tourist shops.  Pick up an 'I heart New York' shirt while you’re at it.”

Hardy stood there waiting for a serious answer before realizing he wasn’t going to get one.  He inhaled loudly through his nose, grabbed his coat, and left.  

He only had to walk a block and a half before he hit a tourist kiosk with a decent map.  Their selection of pins was less than ideal - a multipack with American flags, apples, and the Statue of Liberty.  He picked one up and put it begrudgingly on the counter next to the map along with a mess of crumpled bills from his wallet.  

“What the fuck is this?”

The cashier was holding up a ten pound note.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, exchanging it for an American bill.  

He took his change and shoved it into his pockets along with the map and pins.  

The whiskey mug had returned to its rightful place on Jessica’s desk by the time he had returned.  She saw him look at it before they made eye contact, which she quickly avoided.  

“Find your ‘proper’ map?”

He pulled it out of his pocket.

The only sound in the room was the creaking of the floor as Hardy unfolded the map and pinned it on the wall, marking the crossed out addresses with apples and the others with the flag.

Jessica had multiple tabs open with maps and street views of the buildings.  There was a car in the driveway of the house where Howie’s meeting was tonight, but she couldn’t make out the license plate.  

She went to drink the rest of her whiskey only to find her mug was empty once again.  Hardy’s eyes glanced over at her at the sound of her desk drawer rattling open.  The bottle inside was empty.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

She picked up the empty bottle and brought it to the kitchen, returning to her desk with a full one.  Hardy turned his attention back to the map, but not before she saw him staring.

She put the bottle down forcefully on her desk and opened it loudly; she poured until the mug was full.  Despite his attempts, Jessica could see that he was purposely trying not to look at her.

“What, no judgemental comment on my refreshment choices?”

She had maybe gotten a bit drunk while he was out.

He didn’t respond.  It didn’t take a detective to realize she had her own demons.

“Because if you have a problem with it, you can just leave.”

Okay, maybe more than a bit.  

He turned to face her, eyes soft like warm toffee.  

“Did you want to talk about it?” he asked, a strange mix of concern and annoyance.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

They stared at each other in a stalemate.  

“No,” she managed.

He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

She sat down slowly and pretended to get back to work.  

Neither spoke a word until it was time for them to leave to find out exactly what Howie was up to.  

 

Originally Jessica thought having a partner would be helpful for these kinds of jobs, an extra pair of eyes and a brain, but it had slipped her mind that she usually surveilled people from a fire escape or a tree and, well, it’s not like she climbed up there.  They had to settle for staking out behind a hedge across the street.  

It was quarter to seven, but they had been there for almost half an hour already, just in case.  

“Is this a typical case for you?” Hardy asked.

“The following people is typical, but usually it’s the husbands of trophy wives who are dipping their quill in the company ink, not sketchy kids of worried moms.  Sometimes it’s the wives who fuck around, but mostly it’s men.  Women are more careful.”

Hardy rubbed his earlobe between his fingers.  

“When men cheat, more often than not, it’s just about the sex.  They’re bored and somehow think a new magical vagina is going to fix their life.  News flash: it won’t.  But the women who cheat, nine times out of ten, it’s emotional.  Their husbands don’t give a shit about them anymore.  All it takes is for some decent looking suit to pay some attention to her, and she’s his.”

He picked a leaf off the bush and began tearing it up into tiny pieces at his feet.

“I take it you’re not involved with anyone,” he said.

“I don’t get involved.”

Silence.

“You?”

“What, that wasn’t a part of your research?” he asked slyly.  

“I know you’re divorced.  That’s it.”

“That’s all there is.  It’s in the past.”

His tone suggested otherwise.  

He dropped the last leaf shred and plucked a new one.  

“The past’s a bitch.”

He let out a small laugh through his nose.

“Yeah.”

“He’s here,” she said suddenly.

Hardy looked up.  

Howie was walking up to the house, but instead of going up the path to the front door, he turned to go around the side gate to the back.  

“Fuck.”

Jessica stood up once he was out of view.

“Keep a look out.  I’m going to get closer.”

“And what?  Yell if someone’s coming?”

She paused.

“Okay, fair enough.  We’ll both go, but keep your eyes out.”

They waited a minute before sneaking across the street to the side of the house.  It reminded Jessica of her last fuck up so much, she almost cringed.  She wasn’t collecting evidence though, so none of this had to technically be legal.  Most of what she did wasn’t “technically” legal anyways.  

They stood at the corner of the house.  Howie and the mystery man’s voice could be heard from inside, but not intelligibly.  She could distinguish between Howie’s voice and the man’s though.  Howie sounded frantic and anxious; the man was trying to speak calmly.  

She could hear what she assumed was Howie pacing.  

Then there was silence.  The man said something, still calm.  

“Can you hear anything,” Hardy whispered.

She smacked his arm.

“No,” she hissed.

She put her finger to her mouth and mimed a shush.  While she did that, the back door opened, and Howie and the man’s voice became clear and all too close.

“Just talk to her, okay?  I promise it will help,” the man said.

“Okay,” Howie replied.

He sounded less than convinced, but sincere.  

Footsteps were approaching, fast.  

_Fuck._

Jessica turned to look at the closed gate.  They couldn’t run without being seen.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

She grabbed Hardy around the waist with one hand, the other covering his mouth as she bent her knees and jumped straight up, landing as carefully as she could on the roof.  Her hand stayed firm on Hardy’s mouth as they watched the man escort Howie around to the front of the house.  He was Asian - definitely not Howie’s sperm donor father.  

Hardy’s pulse was racing; she could feel it under her hands.  When the coast was clear, she look at him and released her grasp.  

He stared at her, wide-eyed in disbelief, thankful more than ever that he had gotten his heart issues sorted out or he likely would’ve been dead.  

She just looked at him like a child caught stealing sweets before dinner with little remorse.  

His chest was heaving.  

“What the bloody hell was in that whiskey?”


	4. Issue IV: Former

Jessica once again shushed Hardy and crouched down on the roof to avoid being seen.  He did the same, still trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened, or didn’t happen.  Maybe he was losing his mind.  Maybe there was a ladder next to the house and she just climbed it really fast.  Maybe she was wearing Air Jordans.

He looked at her shoes.

_ Nope. _

They watched Howie walk away from the house and cross the street.  There was something in his hand.  

Hardy heard the back door close and carefully looked over the edge to confirm that the man had gone back inside.  He had.  

Jessica saw Howie pull out his cell phone and open what was in his hand - a folded piece of paper, assumingly with a phone number or an address on it.  He was on the phone for less than a minute before he hung up.  

Hardy could barely see the outline of Howie down the street, so he stared at the back of Jessica’s head as if he could will an explanation out of her.  He was still trying to calm his breathing.  

Howie was waiting at the end of the street, hands in his pockets.  He looked down the block every few seconds, like he was afraid he’d miss something.  

She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial 5.  

“I need a cab at Palisade Ave and West 247th Street as soon as possible.”

She spoke quietly, but not in a whisper.  

“And come up Palisade, not 247th,” she added before hanging up.  

She put her phone back in her pocket and turned, reluctantly, to face Hardy.

“He’s going somewhere.  We need to follow him.”

“What?  We’re not going to fly after him?”

His voice was dripping with a sarcasm that she didn’t have time to deal with right now.  

“I did track and field in high school.  High jump was my specialty,” she said casually. 

Hardy wasn’t buying it, but then again, he didn’t know if he’d believe whatever the truth was anyways.  

She turned around to check on Howie.  He was still waiting.  

_ That fucking cab better hurry. _

Carefully, Jessica crouched up high enough to scope a safe spot to land.  

Hardy was still breathing heavily, almost raspily.  

“Come on, Vader.”

He stayed still.

“You want to stay up here?  Fine by me.”

She moved closer to the edge of the roof.

Hardy let out a loud sigh, that was more of a groan really.

“Fine,” he said.

“Try not to scream this time.”

She wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I didn’t-”

She jumped, swooping his legs up in her other arm before they hit the ground.  She stumbled, but didn’t fall over.  Hardy was quick to squirm out of her grasp as soon as they landed; Jessica was more than happy to oblige.  

“What-”

“You would’ve broken your foot or leg or a hip.  This is concrete, and you probably have osteoporosis or something.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

She started walking to the opposite end of the street, further away from Howie.  Hardy followed.

“And your legs are fine because?”

She wiggled one of her boots at him from behind her.  

“Industrial strength jumping boots.”

They kept to the shadows as they made their way to the corner where the cab would meet them.  Howie’s silhouette could still be vaguely seen from the distance, by Jessica at least.  

The wind rustled the thinning branches of the trees that lined the block causing Jessica to inspect her surroundings more vigilantly.  She prefered the sounds of the city - cars, sirens, animals rummaging in garbage cans.  They drowned out the maddening silence.  This only seemed to amplify it.  

Hardy nudged Jessica’s arm.  She turned and saw headlights coming up from Palisade.  She checked down the other street; he was still there, but there was a glow in the distance.  Moments later, headlights appeared.

“Fuck.”

Jessica checked on their cab again; he was still a ways down the road.  She waved her arms in the hopes that he would speed the fuck up.  

The car stopped next to Howie.  Theirs was taking its sweet time.

“Come on,” Jessica hissed, grabbing Hardy’s wrist and running to meet their ride.  

“Bloody-”

She let go of his wrist before she pulled his arm out of his socket, but kept running.  He jogged after her, rubbing his shoulder with his other hand.  It was still intact, but it felt like barely.  

They climbed in the cab before it had reached a full stop.  

“Where-”

“Take a right up ahead,” Jessica said, cutting off the driver.

Hardy shot a glare at her as he continued to nurse his shoulder.  She ignored it.

They turned the corner in time to see the car that had stopped in front of Howie pulling a u-turn, presumably with him in it.  

“Follow that car,” she told him.  

The driver gave her an odd look in the rear view mirror.

“We’re going to the same party and he forgot to give us the address,” she said in her higher pitched voice.

The driver shrugged it off and followed the car.  

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way.  The only sound was the Eurodance music coming from the speakers and the humming from their driver.  

Howie’s cab (they got close enough to it to determine that much) turned down a side street; the brake lights came on before it reached the end of the block.

“You can let us out here,” Jessica said.

He stopped and she gave him some bills from the pocket of her jacket.  

They got out and watched the action at the other end of the block.  Howie had gotten out of the car and was walking up the steps of the house in front of him.  They crossed to the opposite side of the now deserted street and made their way down to the house.  

“Can you at least warn me this time if any more ‘jumping’ is going to be involved?” Hardy said.

“Calm down.  It’s too risky now anyways.”

She was right.  This street was lit a lot better than the last one.

She nodded across the street next to the house Howie had gone in.  There was an alley with a concrete partition between it and the house.  It looked like the side window was open.  They might be able to hear something, and this time they wouldn’t be seen.  

Jessica began to dart across the street when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her back to the sidewalk just as a cyclist sped past them.  

She turned around to see Hardy still gripping her arm.  She wasn’t the only one who was stronger than they looked.  Not that his strength was in any way comparable to hers, but he had a decent grip for a scrawny Scot.  

He let go of her arm.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to look both ways?”

She scoffed through her nose.  

He gave her a look.  

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

The cyclist would’ve been hurt more than her, but he didn’t know that.  He didn’t need to.  

She made a show of looking both ways before crossing the street this time.  

They positioned themselves underneath the open window next to a dumpster.  It reeked like old vegetables that had decomposed into liquid with a hint of moldy cheese.  Hardy had to cover his nose with his sleeve.  

Faint movement could be heard from inside, but no talking yet.  

There was a woman’s voice, but Jessica couldn’t make out what she was saying.  Then Howie said something indiscernible.  Jessica looked at Hardy for clarity, but he shook his head.

“Why don’t you have a seat in the living room.  I’ll be there in a moment,” the woman said.

They both heard it that time.  It sounded like she was standing right near the window.  

There was some jostling and other noises that followed, then a beep and a loud rumbling.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jessica groaned.  

It was a dishwasher, and it was drowning out any other sound they’d hear from inside.  

She let out a deep, aggravated sigh.

“Fuck.”

She walked to the edge of the alley near the front of the house, leaned against the concrete wall, and slumped to the ground.  Hardy stared at the dirty ground for a moment before opting to keep his trousers clean and lean against the wall next to her.

Jessica buried her face in her hands.  At least the night couldn’t get much worse.  Although, knowing her, it probably could.  She was practically a shit magnet.  

She ran her fingers up her head and through her hair.  Her hand moved to check her pocket for a cigarette.  The pack was empty.  She pulled it out, crumpled it into a ball and threw it at the trash can across from her.  It rattled and spun, almost tipping over.  

“Shit,” she growled under her breath.  

Hardy glanced over at her but didn’t say anything.  

Once again they found themselves waiting in silence, not that either of them minded.  The silence, at least.  The waiting was shit.  

A door opened.  

Hardy and Jessica both peeked around the corner.  Sure enough, the sound came from the front door of the house behind them.  Howie was standing outside.  It looked like he was shaking the woman’s hand.  

He left and made his way to the other end of the street.  Jessica waited a few seconds before stepping out to follow him.

“Wait,” Hardy said, reaching to grab her arm.

She pulled it out of his grasp.

“I’m not letting him get away.”

“Wait until he’s gone round the corner.  You’re too close on foot.”

“I know how to do my job,” she said before continuing to follow Howie.

She was determined.  She also wasn’t paying attention to how fast she was walking.  Mere paces separated her from him.

He moved to turn the corner, but instead made a full 180 and began walking towards Jessica, pace quickening.

_ Shit _ .

She ducked her head and walked past him as casually as she could.  In his hurry, his arm bumped into her elbow, knocking her hand out of her pocket.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She instinctively looked at him, but quickly turned away and kept walking after she saw the look in his eye.

He had recognized her.

_ Fuck. _

She kept walking and turned the corner, ducking into a convenient store a few doors down.  She pretending to browse while looking out the window every few seconds in case Howie passed by.  

A couple minutes later her phone buzzed.  It was a text from Hardy.

[Where are you?]

[Convenient store around corner]

Hardy walked in not long after.  Jessica immediately made her way out the door.  He followed.

“He went back inside to get his scarf,” Hardy explained, trying to keep up with her pace.  “He told the woman he was going to walk home, but she insisted on calling him a cab.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but he could see that her eyes were filled with self-hatred, even more than usual.

“Hey,” Hardy said sharply.  

Jessica stopped.

“It’s okay,” he added.

“What part of that was okay?  He saw me.  He  _ recognized _ me.  How does that  _ not _ fuck things up?”

“People make mistakes.”

“I’m such an imbecile.”

“It happens.”

“Yeah, well…”

She tried to think of a response, but everything that came to mind was either a lie she couldn’t bring herself to utter or something completely pathetic.  

“Look, if this is going to work at all, you’re going to need to trust me, alright?  At least in some capacity,” he said.  

“Who says I don’t trust you?”

“Seriously?”

She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at his shoes.  There was a candy wrapped stuck to one of them.

“Did you learn that little trust tip from your partner?” she asked sarcastically.

“Former partner.”

“Guess the whole trust thing didn’t work out so well then.”

“Jessica-”

It sounded like  _ him _ when Hardy said her name.

“Okay, just shut up with the life lesson already.  Fine.  I’ll trust you.”

He looked at her, not completely satisfied with her answer.

“I’ll try to, okay?”

That sounded more honest.  He’d take it.  

They kept walking.

“But only as far as I can throw you,” she added.

“Let’s not find out just how far that is, shall we?”

“There’s shit on your shoe, by the way.”

Hardy inspected the soles of both of his feet, discovering the wrapper on his left heel.  It took him a few tries, but eventually he was able to scrape it off onto the sidewalk.  

Jessica smirked.

“Can you not call me Jessica?”

“What else am I supposed to call you?”

“I don’t know, Alec.”

He cringed.

“I don’t know,” she said again.  “Jones works.”

“Alright, Jones.”

 

The next morning, or afternoon rather, Jessica was woken up by an urgent knocking on her door.  

“We’re closed,” she yelled.

“Miss Jones!  It’s Elizabeth Maskini.  It’s urgent.”

_ Fuck _ . 

Jessica rolled out of bed and looked for a more or less clean pair of pants on the floor.  She slipped them on and groggily answered the door.

Elizabeth entered.  She was even more frazzled than the first time they had met, clutching her purse with both hands as if for dear life.  

“It’s Howie.”

_ Here we go _ .

“He said he got called into work today, which seemed very strange.  So I called his manager and he said Howie wasn’t there and that he never called him.”

Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Elizabeth shoving a phone she took out of her purse into Jessica’s hand.

“He left his phone at home.  Usually I’m very good about respecting his privacy-”

Jessica had to restrain the urge to roll her eyes at the irony.

“But I looked at it - his passcode is part of our phone number, not very bright of him - he had an appointment today.”

She took the phone back from her and opened it to today’s date before handing it back to Jessica.

There was an address, one that she knew.  It was the first house she and Hardy had been to the night before.


	5. Issue V: Harvest

The street looked different in the daylight.  The sun revealed a long strip of empty lots that the darkness of the night before had hid.  The trees that had rustled in the wind were revealed as naked, their leaves strewn about in piles at their protruding roots.  An abandoned suburbia.  

Hardy tried to fix the mismatched buttons on his shirt, struggling to keep up with Jessica’s pace.  He hadn’t had time to grab a tie before she arrived at his hotel, only five minutes after she had called with the news of Howie’s disappearance.  Her pace only quickened as she got closer to the house.  

“Are you planning on just barging in there and demanding answers?” Hardy asked.

She’d barely said a word to him on the way over, but her eyes were filled with a fire he didn’t dare test.

“No, I have a better plan.”

She reached the door and knocked without hesitation.

“Which would be?”

There was shuffling from inside, then a pause.  The deadbolt unlocked and the door opened, but only far enough for the occupant to poke his head out.  It was the same man.  His narrow rectangular glasses were perched halfway down his nose, leery eyes peeking out above the frames.  Shades of grey and white highlighted his hair and eyebrows.  

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked meekly.

It was a good act.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but our car broke down and my phone is dead,” she said, putting on an act of her own.  “Do you think we could borrow yours?”

The man sized her up before looking over at Hardy, unconvinced of their situation.  

“I don’t think so,” he said, closing the door.

Jessica stuck a hand out flat against the wood.  There was a crunch.  

“We just want a few moments of your time.”

Her smile was threatening.  She could feel him straining behind the door, trying to close it with his whole body weight, but it was no use.  

His head turned down with a sigh.  The door opened.  

“Thank you.”

She removed her hand, leaving an imprint in the wood of where it once was.  

Hardy looked at her.

She shrugged a shoulder.

“This was plan B.”

The man lead them inside to the living room.  The furniture looked antique, as did the rest of the decor inside.  Jessica sneaked a peek at some mail on the table in the hallway.  The top two were addressed to Claudius Craven.  She nudged Hardy to look.  

Claudius gestured for them to have a seat on the couch.  He remained standing, leaning against the entranceway wall.  

The grandfather clock by the mantle ticked each silent second.  

Claudius broke the stalemate first.

“Alright, what is this about,” he asked, as if there was an answer he was already bracing himself for.

She rested her forearms on her knees, hands folded together, and looked up at him with a smile that made him fidget.

“What do you think it’s about, Mr. Craven?” she replied calmly.

He looked at Hardy for a sign, a hint, or something.  All he received was a disapproving stare.  

“Why don’t you have a seat,” he said.

Claudius backed slowly towards the chair opposite them and sat down.  

“We want to talk to you about Howie Maskini,” Hardy continued.  

Cladius’ brow furrowed in confusion.  This clearly wasn’t what he was expecting. 

Jessica rolled her head impatiently.

“The kid who was here last night?”

The information clicked in his head.  His eyes met hers briefly before he bolted up from his seat and ran out of the room.  Jessica sped after him, grabbing the back of his shirt just as his hand reached out towards the front door.  

“Oh no you don’t.”

She spun him around, pressing him hard against the wall.  Hardy appeared from around the corner.  

“Please don’t hurt me,” Claudius winced.

“Then talk.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Bullshit,” she said, shoving him harder against the wall.

“Jones…” Hardy’s voice warned.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Beads of sweat had formed on Claudius’ brow.

“Please,” he whimpered.

“Don’t make me ask again.  I’ve got shit to do today, alright?  And I’d rather not get blood on this jacket, so.”

“He came here, and we talked; that’s all.  I swear.”

“I’m going to need a lot more than that, Claud.”

“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he muttered to himself.

Her grip on his collar tightened causing him to gasp.

“Well your options are trouble or death.  I know which one I’d pick.”

“Jones.”

She shot Hardy a glare.  She wasn’t actually going to kill him, but hey, threats worked.  

“Okay, okay, fine.  I’ll tell you.  Just please let me go,” he sputtered. 

Jessica released her grasp but moved closer.  He wasn’t running away again.  

“Talk.” 

“How much do you know?”

Jessica and Hardy looked at each other to get a read on the situation.  He gave her a small nod.

“We know he was here last night, then you sent him to some woman.  He saw you this morning and now he’s gone.”

He looked from Jessica to Hardy.

“That’s it?”

She brought her face within an inch of his, the smell of his stress sweat clogging her nostrils.

“Do I look like a patient person?”

“I’m a recruiter, okay?  I fell on some hard times almost a year ago, my wife left me, and I did some things I’m not proud of.  One thing led to another and...yeah.”

“Recruiter for what?” Hardy asked.

“People.  Donors.”

“Donors?”

“Organ donors.”

“Not the legal card-carrying kind, I’m guessing,” Hardy said.

Claudius shook his head.

Hardy felt a pit growing in his stomach.  Jessica’s lip curled in disgust.  

“The key is picking your target,” he continued, his courage returning.  “The desperate looking ones, not much family or friends.  Loner types that won’t be missed.”

“That’s pathetic,” she sneered.

“It’s strategy.”

One sharp look from her shot out what little boldness had emerged in him.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Her hand clenched into a fist, arm rising.

“I really don’t, I swear!”

She gave him a warning look.

“I don’t,” he said.  “I don’t run the operation.  I don’t even know who I work for.  It’s all very covert, no names.  We don’t even use the donors’ names.  They get translated into numbers.”

Every word Cladius spoke made Hardy feel more and more ill.  

“It makes things less personal,” he explained.  

“How do you not know where he is?  What happens when they’re done with you?”

He exhaled long and slow.  

“If it’s an easy one, I let the boss know.  Next day, I get an envelope with the donor’s number on it to give to them.  It’s sealed.  Inside are instructions.”

“And you’ve never gotten curious?” Jessica asked.

“You know what they say about curiosity and the cat.”

_ Well, you are a pussy _ .  

“Who’s the woman?  What’s her role in this?”

“Very small, smaller than mine.  She has no contact with the boss.  I employ her directly.”

“For…?” 

“Sometimes donors get cold feet.  I try and assure them it’s safe and that they’ll be compensated well, but...Sometimes I’m put under pressure to produce, so I send them to her.  Tell them she’s a part of our “team”.  A medical consultant.  She assures them of the procedure and so on.  Comforts them.”

Jessica shook her head in disgust.

“She does have medical knowledge,” he said, as if to make the situation better.  “She was a med student, but she had to drop out.  Not cheap, you know?”

“And how many of these donors make it out of this ‘procedure’?”

He swallowed.

“Let’s just say I’ve never had any complaints,” he said softly.  “Not from them.”

She stared at him, nails digging into her palms to stop herself from shaking with anger.  Hardy decided to step in.

“So Howie came here last night with concerns, so you sent him to the med school dropout.”

He nodded.

“And then,” Hardy continued.  “Howie confirmed with you that he was going to go ahead with it and you arranged to meet today.”

“Yes.  I gave him the envelope and he left.  That’s it.  That’s all I know.”  

“Do you have any kids?” Jessica asked.  

Her voice was calm, but Hardy noticed her white, bloodless knuckles.  

“No.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

“No.”

“Still talk to your wife?”

He paused before answering this time.

“No.  I don’t.”

The slightest smile appeared on her face.

“So you won’t be missed.”

She waited for Hardy to protest, but he remained silent.  

She looked into his eyes and saw every spineless, skeezy male she’d ever met.  Her knuckles itched to pound his face so hard his teeth cut through his cheek like a warm knife on butter.  

A soft hand rested on her shoulder.  

“Come on,” Hardy said.  “He’s not worth it.”

She exhaled.

“He’s not worth anything.”

The two of them turned to leave.  Jessica reached out to stroke the handle of a large ornate vase that stood in the hallway.  In one quick snap of her wrist, she thrust it behind her, relishing the sound of it smashing into tiny pieces on the hardwood floor.  The horrified squeak Claudius unleashed as the china shattered was music to her ears.

The house shook when she slammed the door behind her.  

 

As soon as they got back to Jessica’s apartment, she began scouring the kitchen cupboards for a bottle of whiskey that wasn’t empty.  Hardy leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, still trying to absorb everything that they’d discovered and what to do next.  

The kitchen was dry.  She migrated to her desk drawers.  

Hardy rubbed his eyes and nose between his fingers.

The desk was full of empties.

“Fuck.”

She stopped, then went to her bedroom.  In the corner under her bed was the backpack she left her flask in, and she was pretty sure there was still something in it.  The weight of the bag when she picked it up gave her hope.  She pulled the flask out; she could hear the slosh of liquid inside.

“Come on,” she said to Hardy.  “We need a drink.”

She led him out to the fire escape, taking a gulp from the flask and handing it to Hardy.  He took one look over the ledge and thought it best to sit down.  Jessica remained standing, leaning over the ledge, her toes poking through the bars at the edge.  She rocked slowly back and forth over the edge.  Hardy leaned safely back against the side of the building, but her position made him uneasy. 

“How can people be such fucking pieces of shit?” she asked to no one.  

A question Hardy would also like the answer to.

“He probably justifies it to himself, like, he’s not the one who  _ actually _ rips their guts out, so that makes it okay, right?  Just like every other asshole out there who facilitates all the crime and shit in the world.  Especially the fucking cops out there.  A bunch of lazy, spineless shitheads who take bribes and mishandle evidence, letting even  _ more _ shitheads loose on the streets. ”

Hardy nodded, still staring at the street below.

“People make mistakes,” he said. 

He took a long swig of the flask before handing it back to her.  She looked down at him, his own guilt brimming behind apologetic eyes.

It all came back to her, what she read about him.  The case that cost him his reputation.  

“God, I’m a fucking idiot.  I didn’t mean it like that.  I didn’t-”

He shook his head.  

“I made mistakes.  You know that,” he chuckled bitterly.  “Everyone knows that.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault.  You didn’t kill those girls.”

She crouched down in front of him.  

“I let a killer get away with it.  I let three of them get away with it.”

“Hey.” 

He looked up at her.

“No, you didn’t,” she said firmly.  

He looked back down at his lap, his fingers fidgeting.  She sat down cross legged and took another sip from the flask.  

“It’s over now,” he mumbled.  “The case, I mean.  Closed and put to rest, but-“

“It’s still there, in your head.”

He turned to her; it almost felt like he was looking into his own eyes.

“Yeah.”

She handed him the flask.

“Is that why you came here?”

He laughed.  

“Guess part of me thought getting out of there would get it out of here,” he said, pointing to his head.  

“Should’ve called me sooner.  I could’ve saved you some airfare and told you that wasn’t gonna work,” she joked.

He smirked.

“Yeah, well.  Here I am.”

He took a swig.  

“Here you are.”


	6. Issue VI: Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a million years...again.

They stayed on the fire escape until the warmth of the whiskey wore off and the creeping chill of the night drove them inside. Hardy leaned against the desk; his buzz was fading into drowsiness with the beginnings of a headache that already inspired regret at having one swig too many.  Meanwhile, Jessica had caught a second wind.  She lapped around the room twice, then sat at her computer, typing methodically, eyes glued to the screen.  Her determination would’ve been inspiring had he been able to keep his eyes open without significant effort.  

Hardy checked his phone.  No texts.  No voicemails.  No missed calls.  He’d have laughed if he had the energy.  Jessica was also on her phone, dialing.  Before he had a chance to ask what she was doing, the person on the other end answered.

She smiled.

“Good.  You’re up.”

It was sarcastic.  

“Oh, Claud.  If I know where you live, it really isn’t that hard to get your phone number.”

Hardy looked at her.  She shot him a quick glance, but avoided eye contact.

“You’re going to have to do us a little favor.”

_ What is she doing? _

“We need one of those envelopes.”

Hardy swatted her arm to get her attention.  He got it, and a glare.

“Speaker phone,” he mouthed and mimed.  

She put her phone on the table and hit the speaker button.  Claudius’ trembling voice filled the room.

“I already told you; only donors get those.”

“You know, you should really stop calling them that.  It’s not exactly a donation when it’s forcibly ripped from your insides.”

They could hear his shaky breaths.

“Look,” Jessica continued. “The next time you have a ‘donor,’ tell us when it gets to the envelope stage and then we’ll take it from there.”

“Not possible.”

“I would say I don’t want to hurt you, but that’d be a lie-”

“I’m being watched, by  _ them _ , all the time.  They know when I wake up, they know what I eat for breakfast, they know how many times a day I take a piss!”

Hardy’s nose scrunched up in disgust.

“I can only assume they already know you were here…It’s only a matter of time now.”

His voice had dropped to a near whisper, the reality of his fate sinking in.

A light went on behind Jessica’s eyes.

“Tell them I was interested, that I’m a ‘donor’.”

“Jones-” Hardy started.

“Shhh,” she snapped.  “Tell them I’m interested.  Even if they are suspicious, would they turn down a free liver?”

“You can’t-”

“Not that mine’s any good, but you know.”

“Jones.”

“What?”

Hardy leaned over and put his hand over the phone.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“How else are we going to find Howie?”

He exhaled a frustrated breath from his nose.  He reminded her of a dragon when he did that - a slightly old, grumpy dragon.

Hardy lifted his hand from the phone.

“I’m in too, then,” he said.

Claudius let out a snort.  Hardy looked at Jessica, brow furrowed.

“Uhhhhh…”

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just that-”

“You’re too old,” Claudius said.  “No offense.  But they don’t usually waste their time on anyone over...a certain age.  Unless they’re desperate.”

“If I can't come, then I’m keeping an eye on you.”

She shook her head.

“Too risky.”

“Riskier than offering yourself up as an organ buffet?”

“She’s right.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“Hey, I’m on your side!”

“You convince young, vulnerable people to sell their organs for money and then have them butchered.  You're on your own side.”

The room fell silent enough to hear Claudius’ gulp through the phone.

“Are we all understood?”

Hardy and Claudius mumbled in agreement.

“Good.  I expect to hear from you soon.”

She hung up the phone and shoved it back in the pocket of her jeans.  Hardy watched her pretend to tidy up her desk and empty bottles, clearly avoiding him.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?  You haven't even looked at me.”

“I  _ know _ the look.  I can feel it.”   _ It’s the look of disappointment. _

“At least let me follow - from a distance.”

“These aren't some amateurs, okay?  This is a whole operation and we don't even know who we’re dealing with.  It could be the fucking mob for all we know or some government conspiracy or some shit.”

“I didn't have you pegged for a conspiracy theorist,” he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

She rolled her eyes light-heartedly.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Still-”

“You have a kid, yeah?  A daughter?”

A pit began to form in his stomach.

He nodded.

“And at least one friend, I hope.”

The pit rose to his chest.

_ I hope _ .

“Howie has a family, people who care about him.  I don't,” she said.  “Just me.”

It hurt to say the words aloud, but she was determined not to let it show.

Hardy opened his mouth to protest; she interrupted.

“I'm starving.  You like Chinese?” 

He took the hint.

“Not really.”

“Sushi?”

“Chinese is fine.”

 

Take out came.  Hardy followed Jessica to the door, but she handed the delivery man her bills before he had a chance to pull his share out of his wallet.

“Keep the change,” she said as she closed the door.

She turned, Hardy still searching for the right bills.

“You can get it next time.”

The take out bag was plopped on the floor in the middle of the room.  Jessica sat cross legged beside it, pulling the boxes out.

“If there is a next time,” she added with a chuckle.

Hardy didn't laugh.

“I'm kidding. Relax.”

He went to the kitchen and opened one of the drawers.

“I assume you have cutlery somewhere. Or just whiskey?”

“Found your sense of humor, I see.”

“But not a fork.”

“I have cutlery here.”

She tossed something on the floor across from her.  Hardy went to sit by it, trying desperately to conceal the winces on his face from the ache in his joints as he lowered himself to the floor.  He picked up the item Jessica had given him.  

“Seriously?”

“What, they don’t have chopsticks across the pond?”

She broke hers apart and pulled a piece of sweet and sour pork out of the nearest box.  

Hardy continued to stare at the packaged chopsticks.  Jessica rolled her eyes.

“Here.”

She grabbed them from his hand, tore the paper off, and split them in two before handing them back.

“You hold them like this and then just move your finger like that,” she said, demonstrating.  “Easy.”

The box before Hardy contained a brown mess of chow mein noodles and an unidentifiable meat.  Jessica leaned over and looked inside.

“This’ll probably be easier.”

She swapped his box for one containing spring rolls.  He glanced at them and raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.  She raised both of hers and shrugged before stuffing her mouth with a pile of noodles.  

Hardy picked up the box of spring rolls and positioned the chopsticks between his fingers.  He allowed himself three failed attempts before stabbing a roll with both of his chopsticks.  

Jessica almost choked on her chow mein when she looked up to find him eating it off the sticks like a caramel apple, flakes of the crispy shell littered throughout his beard.  

“Good?” she asked.

He pouted his lips and shook his head side to side: not bad.  He had expected to hate it; maybe the whiskey had altered his taste buds.  There were already grease stains on his clothes, and he tried not to think about the extra strain he was putting on his pacemaker with every bite he took.  

Jessica’s phone beeped.  She checked it - a text presumably - typed a response, and put it away without a word.  Hardy had a hunch.

“Can you pass the, uh,” he asked, pointing to the box next to her right knee.

“Chow mein.”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

Half of her mouth curved into a smile.

“You think you’re ready to graduate to noodles?” she asked

“I was born ready.”

“Your shirt says otherwise.”

They shared a small laugh.

Hardy poked at the chow mein with his chopsticks, not actually interested in eating any.  

Something landed in his lap.  It was a fortune cookie.  

“Save room for dessert.”

She cracked hers open, read the paper, and smiled.

“Your turn,” she said, breaking off a chunk of the stale cookie. 

Hardy snapped the cookie in his hands and pulled out the slip of paper.  It was blank.  He turned it over.  Nothing.

“What’s it say?”

“Nothing.  It’s blank.”

“It means you have no future.”

“Yeah?”

“Or someone fucked up.”

“Probably both,” he smirked; she returned it.  “What was yours?”

She shrugged.

“Just a bunch of bullshit.”

He saw she still held the paper between her fingers, folded in half.  

“I’m picking up the envelope tomorrow night,” Jessica blurted out.  “That was creepy Claud before.”

His hunch was right.

“Okay.”

She waited for his second wind protest.  He stayed silent.  He knew it was no use arguing.  

“Okay.”

He was going to follow her anyways.  

 

Hardy’s alarm buzzed just as a harsh ray of light speared its way through the blinds and into his newly opened eyes, the two senses teaming up to ensure he was awake.  The clock read 6:50am.  Jessica wasn't due to be at Claudius’ until 7:30pm that night, but he needed the day to prepare.

While she was in the washroom the night before, Hardy took the opportunity to peek at the message he had sent her.  He felt guilty about it, but he would’ve felt worse if he hadn’t have been able to keep an eye on her.  Plus, if she really didn't trust him, she wouldn't have left her phone lying around.  Technically, it was in her jacket pocket, but the jacket itself was just slung over a chair, so in his mind it was justified.  Almost.  

Every inch of his body felt heavy with exhaustion.  Somehow his brain managed to override the fatigue and get him out of bed and dressed.

He did some research and found a car and a driver to hire for the night.  No taxis today.  He needed something a bit more reliable, if expensive.  

Maps of the city were studied for possible places the operation could be: abandoned houses, near hospitals perhaps, maybe basements of storefronts used as disguise.  It was New York.  The possibilities were endless, and by the time the sun began to set, he felt like no progress was made despite the horrid state his hotel room was in - papers and dirty dishes strewn about like a college dorm room during exam week.  

Six o’clock rolled around.  The front desk called letting him know the driver was there for him.  Hardy did one last sweep of the room to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything before he left.

When he got downstairs, the car was waiting for him out front.  The driver held the door for him with a mauve gloved hand, tipping his matching hat with his free one.

“Evening, sir,” he greeted.

Hardy slipped in the backseat with a mumbled hello.  

A moment later the driver got in behind the wheel.

“You know where to go?” Hardy confirmed.

He had given the address the night before with specific instructions.

“Yes, sir.  And I’ll park just at the edge of the corner.”

“Good.”  

The partition between the front and back row of seats was a third of the way up, but Hardy could see part of the driver’s face in the rear view mirror.  He was wearing aviator sunglasses.  Expensive ones, it looked like.  The job must pay well.  He had certainly forked over a good amount for it.  

_ Shit. _

He’d probably have to tip, too.

Hardy was alert the whole drive.  Every taxi they passed was stealthily inspected, every long, dark haired woman given a double take.  

The car slowed as they reached their destination street.

“Here alright?” the driver asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He looked at the time; he had lots of time yet.  Unless plans had changed.  The thought made his empty stomach churn.  

_ It’ll be fine. _

The driver started humming.  A familiar, catchy tune.  He couldn’t quite place it though.  Was it a jingle?  No.  It was a Beatles song.  I’ve Just Seen A Face.  

It was distracting.

Hardy cleared his throat.  The driver looked at him through the mirror, or so he assumed.  It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.

The humming stopped.  The car remained completely silent for the next fifteen minutes, except for the occasional repositioning and bird chirping from outside.  

A taxi pulled up in front of Claudius’ house down the street.  Jessica got out and went inside.  She was only gone for about two minutes before she returned, envelope in hand.  Hardy let out an audible breath of disbelief.  Part of him hoped she’d chicken out, or have some sort of plan B.  

She paused for a moment before getting back into the taxi.

He followed her, from a good distance.  He was actually pleasantly surprised and slightly disturbed by how good his driver was at stalking the cab.  

They end up by the water - a row of possibly abandoned warehouses lining the strip protected behind a locked metal gate.  The driver turns off the vehicle lights and maintains a distance.  Hardy is still able to see Jessica’s cab pull up right next to the padlock.  She gets out, and he drives off.  She pulls the envelope out of her pocket and does something to the padlock.  It opens; she disappears through the gate and into the third building down.  

Hardy pulls a few bills out of his wallet.

“Thanks.  I’m good for tonight.”

He holds the money out to the driver, who takes it and scoffs lightly.  He was still wearing his sunglasses even though the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only a greenish glow in the sky.  

“Is this all?  For a tip?  How about another twenty.”

Hardy rolls his eyes, but hands another bill to the driver before leaving.  

The chill of the air stabs his lungs.  A coat.  He didn’t bring a coat.  

He makes his way to the padlock, shivering, expecting to find it split in half or ripped off, but it isn’t.  It isn’t even a padlock, not really.  It’s electric, with a screen and a keypad.  

There was probably a code in the envelope.  A unique code for each “donor,” if they were smart.  

“Bollocks.”

He holds it in his hands, debating if it was worth trying his luck.  They probably had a way of telling if someone entered a wrong code in too many times.  

He inspects the fence.  Even if he were more fit, it was a bit high to climb, and the holes were too small to get a good grip on with his feet.

He’s stuck.  

He loosens his tie and opens the first two buttons of his shirt.  His breath is fast and shaky.  He paces up and down the fence looking for another way in, a different gate, or a broken part he could slip in through.  Every second wasted was another second she was in there, alone, but also not alone.  God knows what’s going on.  Sure, she was strong, impossibly so, but if she exists who knows what could be in there.  He tries not to think about it, but there was nothing else to think about.  

The adrenaline made him attempt a pass at climbing the fence, but to no avail.  He slips back down onto the concrete.  As he steadies himself to his feet, he hears a noise.  Footsteps.  Running footsteps.

“Hey!”

He turns.  There’s a flash of light, the silhouettes of one, maybe two, possible three people.  

He’s shot, right in the chest.  

The blow sends him back to the ground.  His hand covers his chest, right over his heart, to stop the bleeding.  But he wasn’t bleeding.  He wasn’t shot.

Another flash of light.  A surge of pain.

Blackout.


	7. Issue VII: Walls

The instructions in the envelope were simple: an address, a code, a building number, and a knocking pattern.  Jessica followed them to the letter with a slight adjustment.  The door at the front of the building, the one she was to knock on, was not the one she entered.  There was always more than one way in, and sure enough when she walked around to the side of the building there was another door.  It was just as battered and rusty as the rest of it that it blended in almost seamlessly.  It helped that there was no door handle; it was an exit only.  Not that she imagined many people left this building, not of their own will at any rate.  

She wedged her fingers in the crack on the side to see if she could pry it open.  Not enough leverage.  

“Looks like I’m doing this the old fashioned way.”

In two quick movements she ripped the pegs from the hinges, only causing a small rusty squeak.  Carefully, she pulled the door aside and entered.  It was dark, but dim enough to see where she was going and to verify no one else was around.  Most of the light was coming from a room straight ahead; shadows flickered and the sound of uneven wheels being rolled on broken concrete echoed.  On either side of her were hallways.  She took her chances with the one on the right that lead further away from the entrance she was supposed to use.  

She tread as softly as she could in combat boots.  It was the beating of her heart she was more concerned about; it was pounding as if it would break from her body at any moment and give her away.  Mumbled voices came from the other room, the one with the light, but she couldn’t make out what they said.

Her pace quickened.  She could see now that the hallway was coming to an end and turning left.  

A heavy door slammed from the same direction as the voices.  

She turned the corner; it wasn’t another hallway.  It was a door.  It looked like a prison door.  No bars or windows, but a sliding latch at eye level, no bigger than a checkbook.  There was a similar one at her feet, only larger - presumably for food.  She put her ear up to the door.  Nothing.  

A flash of light shone above her head.  She looked up only now noticing the grimy windows near the top of the high warehouse ceiling.  There was panicked noises from behind the door, some fearful, some almost excited.  

Jessica moved back down the hall to the door she’d come in.  

Another flash of light.  She sped up, almost running now, the need to get out consuming her.  She shot a quick glance into the lit room to make sure the coast was clear before slipping out the busted door, not knowing what she would find.  

It was as quiet and empty as when she had got there.  She looked both ways down the row of buildings.  There was something by the gate.  No, it was a someone, on the ground.  

_ Oh, shit, no. _

She walked towards it.  The body became more familiar with each step.  She ran.  

_ You stupid little shit _ .

She ripped the gate open knelt down at Hardy’s side.  His body was warm, too warm - hot almost.  

She slapped his face.

“Wake up, asshole!”

His head leaned, but he remained unresponsive.

“Fuck.”

Jessica lifted him over her shoulder like a sack of flour and ran.  She could get to the hospital faster than an ambulance.  

 

Hardy’s eyes fluttered open slowly.  The white glare of his environment was too much to take in all at once.  That smell…

_ Fucking… _

He was in the hospital.  Again.  And not alone.

His eyes adjusted to the light and saw Jessica sitting next to his bed, flipping through an outdated National Geographic.  

His brain registered the pain in his chest and he let out a soft, deep groan.  She looked up at him.

“You moronic asshole.”  He couldn’t help but grin.  “You almost died.”

“It’s becoming a habit,” he managed to get out.  

His throat was dry and his mouth tasted of metal.  He licked his lips and felt a sting from his split lip.  Did she punch him again?  No.  It was coming back to him.  The warehouse, the gate, a voice, the blinding light and pain.

He looked down at his chest.  A bandage lay overtop of the scar from his pacemaker surgery.  

“What happened?” he asked.

“You tell me.  I saw two flashes of light coming from outside when I was in the building, so I came out and there you were lying on the ground outside the gate.”

He sighed.

“I followed you.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I got to the gate and saw the lock.  Someone came towards me, so I turned and then there was the light.  Felt like I was shot.  Then it happened again, and that’s all I remember.”

“Did you see the person?”

“No.”

“You weren’t shot.”

“I was shot with something.”

“Not a gun.  Not a normal one, at any rate.”

He ran a finger along his bandage; he could feel the pain of an incision.  

“What did they do?”

Her chest rose as she filled her lungs with the stale, sanitized air.  

“They had to replace your pacemaker.  Whatever happened to you, it completely messed it up.  Not even the doctors know exactly what could have done it.  Something about electrical and magnetic interference of extreme levels, or some bullshit like that.”

“An electromagnetic ray gun, perhaps,” he smirked.  “Sounds like something from a comic book.”

“Well I’m glad you’re at least in a good mood.”

She wasn’t.  

His smile dropped.

“I guess-”

“No, I didn’t find Howie.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not.”

She tossed the magazine on the side table and crossed her arms.

“I found a room though.  I think it’s where they keep them.”

“Them?”

“The ‘donors’.  The ones they don’t need right away, or maybe people who somehow survive round one, I don’t know.  There’s definitely more than one person in there.”

Hardy’s stomach turned at the thought.  

“At least we have more of an idea what we’re in for,” he said.

“I’m sorry, we?”

His eyebrow turned at her.

“You nearly got yourself killed.  You’re not going near there.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he scoffed.  “What happened to being a team, working together?”

“I told you not to follow me.  I told you I was doing this alone.”

“Make up your damn mind, woman, do you want help or not?”

She was silent.  

“Good luck on your own, then,” he muttered, turning his face away from her to the window.  

She sat there contemplating all the possible outcomes of a second attempt, with and without Hardy, the best and worst case scenarios.  

“I need to know I can trust you,” she said.  

He turned back to her.

“You can.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.  

“You can,” he repeated.  It was a promise.  

She did; it was her own shit luck she couldn’t trust.  

Jessica shook her head in defeat.

“Do you have a death wish?”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her; her eyes turned sheepishly to the floor.  

“Fine.  But you’re only watching and only from a distance.  And only when you’re as fit as...well as fit as you can be.”

“Watch it, Jones.”

“Or what.”

His smile stretched farther than his split lip would allow causing him to wince.

She chuckled.

“Or I’ll drink all your bloody whiskey.”

 

Their first order of business when Hardy was discharged was to pay another visit to Claudius.  Jessica didn’t technically show up for her appointment after all; the higher ups had to have had contact with him.  She only felt slightly guilty about the repercussions he might have faced on her behalf.

Her cab picked up Hardy at his hotel.  His left arm hung limp at his side as his right hand reached for the door.  

“I was sort of hoping you’d pull a Colonel Austin and accidentally rip the door off with your super strength,” she joked.

He smiled at the reference.  His split lip had nearly healed.

“No, I think that’s your area of expertise,” he replied under his breath.  

She smirked.

“Bit before your time,” he added.

“Ever hear of reruns.  Or this magical invention called the internet?”  

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Every so often on the way to Claudius’ house, Hardy would move, or the car would jerk, and he’d wince.  He popped a few pills, trying to conceal the act from Jessica, but she knew what he was doing.  She refrained from commenting.  

They cab pulled up a few doors down from Claudius’ house.  They wanted some distance from it, but Jessica didn’t want Hardy to strain himself.

The street was as silent as it had always been; somehow today it felt more eerie than ever.  

Jessica knocked on the door.  She hadn’t called in advance.  

No answer.  No movement from inside.

She knocked again, louder.

They waited.  Nothing.  

“Ready or not, here I come.”

She opened the door with ease.  It was unlocked.  

Their mouths gaped open as they looked inside.  The house had been gutted.  All the furniture, the paintings, the antiques, absolutely everything had been removed.  But it was neatly done - not as if he had been robbed, but simply as if he had moved.

“Do you think he-” Jessica started.

Hardy shook his head.

“He would barely have had the time.”

He looked closer at the wall where a large painting had hung.  The holes in the wall had been refilled and painted over.

“Claud,” Jessica called through the house.

No answer.

They split up, scouring all the rooms only to find them all in the same state of affairs, and no Claudius.  They met up by the back door and each shook their heads.  Jessica put her hands on her hips and turned to look out the back door window.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Hardy turned to see what she was looking at.

He opened the door, without a word, and crouched down next to Claudius.  He was face down on the brick patio, partially dried blood pooled around him, a thin layer of frost.  Hardy could only look at his broken and bent legs once.  His eyes instead turned up to the edge of the roof, right above where Claudius lay.  

Jessica stood above him in disbelief.

“Those fucking bastards.”

“What?”

“There’s no way this was a suicide.”

“How can you tell?”

“For starters, the height wouldn’t be enough to kill him, unless he did a swan dive head first, and based on the fact that his brains are still inside his skull, I highly doubt that was the case.”

“Bloody hell.”

She was right.

“Look at his arms.”

There were faint bruises on them that could very well have been made by firm hands.  

“And he was way too afraid of dying to do this to himself.”

“The house, too.  Why go through all the trouble of clearing it out?  Getting rid of evidence, sure, but everything?”

Hardy stood up and looked around the yard.  It was lined with tall hedges protecting it from the view of nosy neighbors.  

“We should call the police,” Hardy said.  

“They’ll take one look and rule it suicide.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Jessica nodded solemnly.  

They went back inside and wiped their prints from the house, just in case.  Jessica called in the anonymous tip from a payphone once they had left.  The guy was scum, but she wasn’t sure he deserved that.  She couldn’t get the thought of him being repeatedly dropped from the roof out of her head.

_ Round one: broken bones, concussion, bruising. _

The cab pulled up to Jessica’s apartment.

_ Round two: shattered bones, internal bleeding, probably unconscious - on the edge of death, but not quite just yet… _

“Hey, lady!”

The cab driver’s yell jolted her back to reality, but only partially.  Hardy barked back at the driver, handed him some bills.  Jessica remained in the car.  A hand on her shoulder.

“Come on,” Hardy said.

He guided her out of the car, his right hand resting comfortingly between her shoulder blades as he stood patiently on the steps while she rummaged through her pockets for her keys.  

Hardy took the keys from her when they got to her apartment and he opened the door.  She sat on the ground, her back slumped against her desk.  Hardy went to the kitchen and found a bottle of whiskey.  He took a swig before sitting down next to her.

“It never gets easier,” he said, handing her the bottle.

“I know.”

Those two words made his heart sink.  He took the bottle from her after she’d had a gulp.  

Jessica turned to him.

“Should you be drinking that?”

He took a sip.

“No.”

“Okay.”


	8. Issue VIII: Return

They waited one day before deciding to return to the warehouse.  Jessica was still leery about Hardy tagging along, but she knew that no matter how much she protested, he wouldn’t listen.  And who knows how much time Howie had left, if any at all.

Hardy had been wracking his brain for a clearer memory of the attack.  Did he see a face?  All he remembers was the voice - non-descript male - and the light.  And the pain.  And some vague recollection of being carried and the smell of leather, but he didn’t bring that up.  

“We should get there before they start, assuming they always do it at night.”

Hardy nodded, his mouth too full of food to reply.  They once again found themselves eating on the floor of Jessica’s apartment.  Sandwiches this time.  

“What’s your plan?”

She shrugged.

“Get in and get out, fast as possible.”

“What about the padlock?  D’you think your code will still work?”

“Doubt it.  But there’s more than one way I can get through a fence.”

“Could be alarmed.”

“Nothing went off when I broke into the building,” she rebutted before picking a stray piece of lettuce off of her jeans.  

“Silent alarms.”

She sighed in annoyance.

“I just want to make sure you’re prepared,” Hardy added.  

“I’m letting you come along this time, alright?”

“‘Letting’ me…”

“That’s what you’ll be there for.  If anything goes wrong, I’ll get out.”

Hardy looked at her, unconvinced.

“Scout’s honor.”

They dropped the subject and resumed eating.

“Bet you were never even a scout,” Hardy mumbled.

“Don’t make me bring out the photos.”

She opened the bag of salt and vinegar chips next to her.  She looked inside the bag and hesitated for a moment before grabbing a few especially crunchy looking chips.

“Is there anyone in Broadchurch who would want you dead?  Or anywhere, for that matter?”

Hardy’s face scrunched up; he thought about it.  

“I suppose there might be,” he admitted.  “But most of them are behind bars.”

Jessica was lost in thought

“Why?  Someone try to hire you to off me,” he joked.

“Don’t you think it’s odd?  The other night, someone attacks you with what’s essentially a pacemaker exploding gun?”

He hadn’t really thought of it, actually.  He assumed he was shot and didn’t fully process what she had said about it at the hospital.

“None of them would’ve done that,” he replied, shaking his head.  “None of them could have.”

Jessica arched an eyebrow.  Hardy could feel the warmth spreading up his neck to his ears.

“No one knows I’m here.”

The words were almost inaudible.  

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Could they have-”

“Highly doubt it.”

“Okay.”

“Look, it was probably just a coincidence,” he said, trying to brush it off.  “That thing set off a blinding light; it could’ve been a distraction device.  Something a guard used to keep people away.”

It was possible.

“If someone wanted me dead, I would be.”

“Not on my watch.”

Half of Hardy’s mouth curled up into a smile.  

“You don’t look like a bodyguard.”

“What’d you expect?”

“A tough guy.”

She gave him a cheeky grin

“This is my disguise.”

Jessica looked up out the window.  The sun had begun its descent and was now peeking into the apartment from the top of the pane.  Hardy noticed and checked the time.

“We should head out soon,” she said.

He nodded, taking one last bite of his sandwich before crumpling the remains of the crust into a napkin.  

 

They took a cab part way and walked the rest.  They both convinced each other that their paranoia was merely a safety precaution, but the air that surrounded them as they walked to the warehouse was stirring with anxiety and worst case scenarios.  

Jessica feared the sight of Howie’s dead body - another life on her conscience.  

Hardy worried about an empty room.  No body to bury, no son to reunite - just an unclosed circle of maybes and what ifs.  The thought alone was too much.  

Everyone they passed on the street was going about their day - coming home from work, going out to dinner, mom’s dragging kids around by the hand, arms full of groceries, suits upon suits brushing past them in a hurry, and all of this scored with horn honks, chatter, and the occasional street performer.  

The only silent thing on the street was them.  

Their pace slowed as they grew closer.  The gated in warehouses looked just as creepy in the daylight, but in a different way.  The decrepitness of the buildings was visible, every rust stain, every spraypainted tag, every blacked out window.  

Jessica stopped walking.  Hardy did the same.

“Are you ready?” she asked.  

She didn’t turn to look at him.  Her eyes were set ahead.

“Yeah.”

“We should be quick.  I’m going to bend the lock open.  They’ve probably fixed the door I came in, but I should be able to get it open again.”

“We?”

Her eyes turned to meet his.

“Don’t get too excited.  You’re still acting as lookout.  But you should be in the building by the door.  There are three hallways there, and we’ll need to get out quick.”

“Right,” he nodded.

She took a deep, quiet breath.  

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Jessica walked swiftly but casually up to the lock, Hardy close behind her scanning the area.  It was clear.  

His tall frame shielded her as she bent the hook of the lock apart and slid the gate open.  It rattled and creaked.  

They rounded the corner of the target building where the side door Jessica went in before was.  The door had been fixed, as she suspected, but not in the way she’d hoped.

It had been welded shut on all sides, a door no longer.  

Her hand ran along the edges of the frame, searching for a crack she could pry open.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she grumbled through her teeth.

“There has to be another way.”

She bolted around to the back of the building, Hardy hot on her heels.  

No door at the back.  They moved to the other side.

Nothing, nothing, nothing...wait.

Just before the corner back to the front of the building there was a door, similar to the one on the other side, only not welded shut.

“Jackpot.”

She started popping out the hinges.

“Do you know where this one goes?”

“Nope, but-”

“Jones.”

“I just need to make it to the other side.  The room their in is on the opposite corner of the building, and the other hall I saw last time has to lead to this door.”

She shoved the screws from the hinges in her pocket and wedged the door off, resting it to the side.  Light shone into the building, her shadow projecting inside.  That was something they didn’t account for.

“Can you lift this?” 

Hardy’s eyebrow rose so high it almost blended in with his hair.

“Could you at least knock it over?”

He looked at the metal door.

“I think so.”

She hesitated, unconvinced, but there wasn’t another option.  She nodded for him to go inside, followed him, and propped the door back up against the frame to block the light.  It was propped as such so it’d be easier for Hardy to top over, if he could, when she came back with the hostages.  

_ Hopefully.   _

Inside it looked similar to when she first entered on the opposite side - a hall to her right and left, but this time there was only a wall straight ahead.  

“I’ll let you know when I’m coming back, if I can.”

Hardy gave her a fatherly look.  She managed half a smile before making her way down the right side hall.  

It turned left sharply.  There was a faint glow of light coming in about halfway down from the left hand side.  She pressed her back flat against the wall, steps slowing.  

She stopped before the opening and listened.  The only sound she could hear was her own breathing.  

She waited.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

She dashed across the opening, cautious to land softly on her feet.

She stopped again.  Still silent.

Onward she went.  The hall curved to the left and she found herself back at the spot where the welded door was.  She didn’t wait as long this time before crossing the opening.  

Her heart raced faster with each step she took.  What if one of them was dead; what if they all were?  

What if it was empty?

Her brain was already beating her up for not just ripping the door off when she was there the first time.  

She rounded the last corner.  The door was in front of her, but there was no noise.  

Inhale.

Exhale.

She slid open the top latch on the door.  There was movement inside, and a dim glow coming from above - a distant skylight.  

“Howie?” she whispered.

Bodies from the corners scurried into the light.  There were three of them: two boys and a girl.  

“Who are you?” one of the boys says.

He rises to his feet, which takes almost all his energy.  He’s dirty and his eyes look like the life has been sucked out of them.  She still recognizes him though. 

“I’m here to get you guys out.”

The people on the floor smile.  They can’t be more than 17.  Their clothes are visibly more tattered than Howie’s, but it looks like they were that way to begin with.  Runaways.  Street kids.  No one to report them missing.

“Stand back,” Jessica warns.  “And get ready to move.”

The other two stand and move with Howie to the far wall away from the door.  Jessica rips the hinges off and pulls the door aside, not bothering to avoid making noise.  She turns to look at them.  They stare at her, eyes wide and mouths open.

“Let’s go.”

She holds her hand out; Howie grabs it.  The others follow suit forming a train and Jessica leads the way back down the hall.  

This was it.  They were home free.

A door creaked.  Unfamiliar voices followed.

She ran faster, practically dragging the three of them behind her.

They crossed the first opening to the main room.  Two men were inside.

“Hey!”

“Get them!”

_ Fuck _ .

“Come on, we’re almost there,” Jessica called behind her.

They turned the corner.  Almost there.

“Hardy!”

There was scraping of metal, then a thud.

“Watch your step,” he said.

He was just around the last corner.  She could see the light, dimmer now.  

Hardy was just outside the building, waiting to help them out.  

Jessica felt her arm tugged, the one that Howie held.  A scream.  A boy’s scream.  She was already outside, Howie behind her, and the girl.

A gunshot from inside.

“No!” the girl screamed.

She turned to go back in, but Hardy grabbed her.

“You can’t.”

_ Almost _ .

“We need to get out of here,” Jessica said.  

“Come on,” Hardy said softly to the girl, his arm around her, ushering her to leave.  She complied.

They ran, all except Jessica, who first shoved the door back into its frame before turning to follow them.  It could at least buy them some time if they were chased.  

She stayed behind the pack.  Howie led the way while Hardy kept pace with the girl.  

It had gotten darker outside, not quite dusk, making it seem like Jessica had been in there longer than she was.  It was only minutes, if that.  It felt like she had spent more time running than she had inside, and they were all relieved when they got back to the main streets.

They stopped, panting.  The girl’s face was red, from exertion and tears.

“Are you guys okay?” Jessica asked.

They looked at her, and she looked at them.  She could see them properly for the first time out in the open.  Their arms were exposed, needle marks on their veins surrounded by bruising - stains on their clothes, along with the dirt.  The question sounded stupid in her head now.  

_ Of course they weren’t. _

But they knew what she meant, and nodded.  

She turned to Hardy, who was still out of breath but trying not to show it.  He had the same look in his eyes that she imagined she had.  He nodded.

“We should probably get them to a hospital.”

Jessica took off her coat and wrapped it around the shivering girl while Hardy tried to hail a cab.

“Thanks,” the girl said.

“What’s your name?”

The corners of her mouth turned up and she let out the smallest breath of a laugh.

“Asha.”

Jessica smiled, confused at the reaction.

“It means hope.”


	9. Issue IX: Postscript

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter. Thanks for reading this obscure crossover. It's very likely my last piece of fan fiction that I will write.

Howie and Asha were set up in a room together.  The nurse was surprised at how “healthy” they were considering the circumstances they’d been in; Jessica had told him the situation in confidence.  He did find sedatives in both of them however, likely to keep them compliant and subdued, and suspected the needle marks were from that and injections of nutrient cocktails to keep their bodies functioning until needed.  

“I won’t lie to you,” the nurse whispered to Jessica and Hardy.  “This isn’t my first time dealing with something like this.  Usually they don’t bother keeping people well, you know?  It’s the desperate kind that turn to black market organs, and as long as they’re human and compatible, they don’t much care about quality as long as it’ll keep them alive.”

They could guess what was going to come next; it was something Jessica had feared when she first found them alive.

“But this case,” he continued.  “The people, the monsters, behind this are entrepreneurs.  They likely have a high-end clientele.”

“And by high-end I assume you mean wealthy,” Hardy said. 

The nurse nodded.  

“Drug lords, mobsters-”

“Corrupt people of authority,” Jessica interjected.

The nurse looked at her.  They were on the same page.

_ Don’t trust the cops. _

“Yeah,” he said.

The silence was thick.  

“Anyways,” he said in a different tone, no longer whispering.  “They’ll be okay, physically speaking.  I’d recommend some counseling sessions, whether they feel they need it or not.  It’s not good to lock that kind of stuff inside; it’s good they have each other.”

The pair nodded and the nurse took his leave.  

Howie and Asha were lying on their beds hooked up to IV fluids to flush out the drugs.  They’d been cleaned up and traded their dishevelled clothing for hospital gowns.  Asha looked even younger now.  Jessica had snuck a peek at her medical chart; she was only fourteen.  Orphaned - likely ran away from an adoptive home or foster care.  Probably been on the street for at least a year.  

Jessica watched the rise and fall of the bed sheet as she breathed.  She was peaceful, sleeping now, exhausted from everything that had happened.

_ Fourteen… _

“We should call Miss Maskini,” Hardy said.

“Yeah, right.”

She took out her phone and dialed.  It rang once before she answered.

“Hello?  Miss Jones?”

“Yes, hello.  We’ve found Howie.  He’s safe.”

Mumbled sobs came from the other end of the line.

“We’re at St. Vincent’s.”

“Oh my-”

“He’s alright,” she said, turning to look at Howie; he was smiling sheepishly.  “I think he’d like to see you though.”

“Thank you, thank you!  I will be right there.”

She hung up and walked over to Howie and sat down in the chair next to him.  Hardy followed, standing next to her.

“So how much of this do you want her to know about?”

Howie gave her a perplexed look.

“You mean you’re not going to tell her what happened?”

“Do I think you should be honest with her?  Probably.  But I’m not going to say anything if you don’t want me to.”

He fiddled with a part of the bedsheet that had become untucked, avoiding eye contact.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t tell her?”

“You left a loving mom worried sick about you to sell a kidney for some spare cash.  Bit embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory or ridiculing; it was understanding.  She’d done plenty stupider things.  

He shook his head.

“The money wasn’t for me.  It was for her.  The divorce took so much of her money, I just-”

His voice started to shake.  

“She didn’t want me to know how bad it was, but she started losing weight, cutting expenses…”

He laughed as though he’d remembered a joke.

“She cancelled the cable because she said she wanted to live more ‘naturally,’ didn’t turn lights on unless it was absolutely necessary.  I should’ve seen it sooner.  That’s why I took the second job.  I’d take bills from the mail and pay them in advance.  She was never great at keeping track of that sort of thing, so she never questioned it.  But it wasn’t enough.”

“Then you found Claudius,” Hardy inferred. 

“He found me, actually.  It was weird.  I was working myself into the ground, and then he shows up at the store one day.  We start talking, money comes up, he mentions the organ donation option.  He looked legit and professional, and I could live with only one kidney.  I couldn’t live with seeing my mom how she was though.”

A tear dropped off his chin onto the blanket.  

“It was too much,” he added.

“Now that doesn’t sound so dumb, does it?” Jessica said.

He looked up and smiled, eyes wet and red.

Asha began to stir.  Hardy walked over to her bed.  She opened her eyes and sat up a bit in bed, wincing at the awkward feeling of the IV in her arm.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Physically?  Mostly just tired.” 

There was a pause.  He wanted to comfort her about the boy, but he didn’t know how.

“Howie!”

Elizabeth Maskini ran in the door and straight to her son’s bedside.  Jessica got up from the chair to let her sit down.  She brushed right past it and knelt by the bed, stroking Howie’s face and kissing his forehead.

“My beautiful boy, you’re alive.”

Both were in full fledged sobbing mode now, Howie spewing out apologies between breaths.  

Jessica let them have their reunion and went to the other side of the room to check on Asha and Hardy.  He was grateful for her presence.  

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Asha shook her head.  

“Not unless you have a drink on you.”

Jessica smirked; not a shocking thing to hear from a street kid.  Hardy didn’t find it that amusing; she was a child, after all.  

“Surprisingly, I don’t.”

“Shame.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Asha shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“What was his name?”

“Ray.  Ramon.”

Her face lit up a bit when she said it. 

“He was my best friend.  I loved him.”

“You knew each other before…”

“Yeah.  We lived on the street together.  He was the one who helped me stop turning tricks.”

The casual way she said it broke their hearts.

_ Fourteen _ .  

“I didn’t get as much money as I did before, but we survived.  Together.  And I was happier.”

Her light faded.

“I was the one who told him about this thing, convinced him we should do it.”

She fought back the emotions that were rising as best as she could.

“It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jessica echoed back to her.  “It’s those bastards’ fault.”

“They’re going to try to put me back in the system when I’m released, aren’t they.”

Jessica took a deep breath.  They might.  It was hard to tell what would be worse: being on the street or in another abusive home.  

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Hardy looked at Jessica.  She could feel his confused, judging gaze and ignored it.  He didn’t know what it was like, and that wasn’t his fault, but she did.  

“But not all foster homes are shit,” she added.  “Believe it or not, decent people exist.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Jessica couldn’t help but be touched.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her cards.

“The choice is yours, but either way-”

Asha took the card from her.

“You come to me if anything happens, alright?”

She nodded.

“And don’t do anything Ray wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

“I won’t.”

She meant it.  

Jessica looked over at Howie and his mother.  She was holding his hand as he told her the truth.  Then Jessica turned back to Hardy, who had been silent.  His face was weary; he looked broken.  

“We’ll just be in the hall if you need anything,” she told Asha and nodded for Hardy to follow her.  

He let out a deep breath once they were alone outside the room.  He was still processing everything.  The young man who would’ve sold an organ just so his mother wouldn’t have to worry about money, the even younger girl who had been on the street for who knows how long doing things a child shouldn’t even think of.  It made him miss Broadchurch.  How tranquil it seemed to him now.  

Jessica could see it in his eyes.  His time in New York was finished.  

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets.

They both had things they needed to say but neither wanted to break that ice.  

“Are you going to tell the police about this?” Hardy asked.

Jessica shrugged.

“I’m not sure.  The nurse was probably right.  If I did, I’d need to be careful who to tell.  Otherwise it could just get covered up even further.”

“True.”

“I figure an anonymous tip about the warehouse would be fine.  Now that we know what’s going on, we- I can keep my eyes open for anything sketchy.  They’ll probably stop activity for a while now anyways.”

“Yeah.  Those kids…”

“I know.”

“You should- maybe make sure they talk to someone about it, like they said.”

Jessica snorted.

“Counseling?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a bit defensively. 

The hall filled with the echoes of urgent chatter, pager beeps, and squeaky pushchairs in the absence of their voices.  

“Look,” Jessica said.  “I know you’re probably leaving now that this is all over but I feel like there’s something you should know about me.”

He turned his body to face her, leaning only one side of himself against the wall.

“You sort of already know, but I’m...pretty strong.  Stronger than the normal person.”

“Pretty good jumper from what I recall, too.”

“Jumping, flying, whatever you want to call it.  Anyways, I’m not the only one.  There are others.”

“Like you?”

“Sort of.  They can do different things, some similar.”

If he hadn’t have seen what she could do he wouldn’t have believed it.  It sounded wild still, but not completely out of the range of possibility.

She paused, debating how much to actually say.  

“I was taken hostage I guess you could say by one of these other people.  He could control your mind; not just make you do things but make you think that that’s what you wanted to do.  I did things, things I can’t take back, that I can’t fix.”

Hardy’s heart ached as she bared herself to him.  Foreign words and familiar feelings.

“Eventually I was able to break free, but…”

“Wounds scar.”

She nodded.

“Remember when we first met?”

“My face hurts at the thought,” he joked lightly.

“I saw you in the bar and- you look just like him,” she said. 

“Really?”

“Uncanny, except for the accent.  He’s English.  You don’t have a twin or anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Just checking.”

“I don’t blame you for the punch,” he said.  “I probably would’ve done the same, minus the super strength.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s dead.  But-”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Seeing me then must’ve been-”

“My worst nightmare.”

_ Literally _ .

Hardy shifted his weight and replayed their time together over in his head.  It all made so much more sense now, especially her looking into him in such depth - his past, his work, all of it.  

She put her hands in her pockets and leaned her back against the wall next to him.

“Did it help?” she asked.

“What?”

“Counseling.  Talking about it.”

He looked in her eyes.  They were still hard, but smoother than before, like a stone that had its edges polished.  

He gave her the faintest smile.

“You tell me.”

She smiled back, and his grew.

“Thanks.  For everything.”

She held out a hand, which he shook.

“Likewise.  And if you’re ever in Broadchurch.”

“I doubt it, but I’ll let you know.”

“Goodbye, Jones.”

“Goodbye, Hardy.”

They parted hands and ways.  Hardy gave her one last smile and nod from the elevator down the hall before the door closed.

Elizabeth Maskini came out into the hall.

“Oh good, you’re still here.”

She pulled two envelopes out of her purse and handed them to Jessica.  

“This one is the rest of the money I owe you,” she said pointing to the longer white envelope.  “And he wanted me to give you that one.”

The second envelope was smaller and a dark shade of purple with an almost satin-like shine to it.  Her name was written in fancy letters on the front.

Something in her stomach turned as she opened it.  The writing was familiar.

“Who?” she asked, taking a note card out of the envelope.

“I don’t know his name.  He said you’d know.”

Jessica read the card.  It was white, but the ink was a similar shade as the envelope.  She could feel the blood drain from her face as her heart went into overdrive.  

In the middle of the card were three words.

_ I know everything. _

The bottom right corner had an arrow indicating to the other side.  She flipped the card.

_ P.S. About your new friend, too.  You just can’t resist that face, can you? _

* * *

 

Hardy went straight back to his hotel room to pack his things and book the next flight back to London.  It was time to go.  There was one leaving that night that miraculously had a seat left.

He had time to kill at the airport and found himself starving.  The selection was grim, but he came across a Chinese place and felt compelled.  He ordered spring rolls and chow mein.  There were plastic forks there, which he was glad about.  He took a set of chopsticks too though.  

Hardy sat at the cleanest looking table he could find.  His phone sat next to his food, and he stared at it as much as it stared at him.  He didn’t touch it.

The food wasn’t as good as when he and Jessica got it.  The spring rolls were too greasy and this chow mein clearly had chicken in it.  He wiped his face with a napkin and looked at the plastic wrapped fortune cookie.  Part of him didn’t even want to open it.  Not that he was superstitious or anything.  

He did it anyways out of curiosity.  

The cookie crumbled in his hands as he broke it revealing the slip of paper.  There were words on it this time.  He wiped the crumbs off his lap and read it, the words resonating with him.

_ Change can hurt, but it leads a path to something better. _


End file.
